


Never Feel Alone

by Annaelle



Series: Unbecoming Everything You Are Not [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers Family, Barnes Family, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Depression, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, Hydra, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve-centric, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, The Winter Soldier - Freeform, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, heed the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-05-14 12:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle
Summary: After the Battle of New York, Steve tries to keep it together. He still boxes, has lunch with Becky twice a week and avoids the Avengers Tower like the plague. Somehow, he's more alone than he ever has been.He thinks he is, anyway.Steve Rogers-centric. Canon Divergent. Stucky Endgame.





	1. The One With the Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> Welcome to the second part of my little series. I hope you have all enjoyed In Hell, We Stand By You, and are ready for the sequel, which will have two chapters. This first chapter is going up already because it's been finished for weeks, and it was just sitting in my Dropbox gathering dust. 
> 
> It's finals month at uni, and I have my CapRBB piece due soon too, so the second part to this will probably have to wait until late June, early July. I already apologise for the wait.
> 
> Also, first, there's a couple of time jumps in the fic. Each time, there should be a time and place in the beginning of the scene, so you can keep track of what happens when :) Second; please, please heed the tags. I put them there for a reason. Steve is not doing well in this work, and especially not in this chapter. If any of the tags squick you out or are triggers, please feel free to message me, and I'll be happy to explain what happens where, so you can decide if you want to read it or not. Much, much love to my darling Juulna for helping me make this fic (and all the others that are yet to come) a reality. Hope you enjoy! Love, Annaelle

# Never Feel Alone

## “All relationships have one law:  
Never make the one you love feel alone, especially when you’re there.”  
—Anonymous

## Chapter One

_SEATTLE, WA, USA — Seattle was shocked today when an as of yet unknown man set off a bomb in a popular local nightclub. Caprice Nightclub is popular with students of Seattle University, locals, and tourists alike, and was crowded when the bomber set off his bomb._

_…the blast destroyed the entire nightclub and has reportedly killed seven people and severely wounded over two dozen others. The injured, mostly between the ages of 25 and 30, were all taken to nearby hospitals, which saw a heavy increase in police presence._

… _thus far, no organization has come forward to claim the attack, though speculation and inside sources with the Seattle P.D. suggest focus on terrorist organizations like Ten Rings and Al ’Qaeda. In the wake of the attack on New York and its world-altering repercussions, the bombing in Seattle may appear negligible, but its effect on Seattle and the student populace will surely be felt for years to come._

 _—_ F. Gray, ‘ _Bombing at local nightclub’, Seattle Times,_ July 15th, 2011

——————

### Undisclosed Hydra Base, New York City, New York, United States of America

### The Asset

The new mission is complicated.

If the asset were permitted to have an opinion, it would certainly advise against such clandestine, melodramatic tactics. There were easier, more effective ways of breaking an enemy agent, ways it had applied with great success in the past. Of course, it was not the asset’s place to question the handler’s orders, and Pierce had been explicit.

It was to stalk the target, show glimpses of itself only to the target, in hopes of destabilising the target’s mental health, so he would be amenable to Hydra’s cause.

The asset could only approve once it had been shown the target’s profile.

The target appeared to be a master tactician and a formidable soldier. The asset was sure he would be of great aid in achieving Hydra’s biggest goals.

“He must be wiped every day,” the handler ordered staunchly. The asset suppressed the urge to shiver, and planted its feet wide as it listened to the handler issuing further orders for the asset’s maintenance during the mission. The asset did not recall having been sent on a potentially long-term mission before, but The Chair made the asset’s back-up files unreliable.

It supposed it required additional maintenance during longer term missions.

“Asset,” the Handler barked, handing it a brown folder. “This is your target. Do not engage directly. Threat level 9. You must show only glimpses of yourself, and you must never reveal yourself to anyone but the target. Do you understand?”

The asset nodded curtly, silently.

Always silent.

The handler looked pleased. “Excellent. We will do great things together. A new era dawns for Hydra.” The asset flipped open the folder, fingers coming to rest on a coloured picture of a tall, blond man with impressive musculature.

 _Steven Grant Rogers_.

——————

### Avengers Tower, New York city, New York, United States of America  
Late July 2011

### Steve

“You made out with _Thor_?”

Steve winced a little at the high-pitched note of disbelief in Becca’s voice, but nodded nonetheless, cheeks burning in slight embarrassment. He wasn’t _ashamed_ of the time he’d spent with Thor, before and after he’d kissed the man after getting drunk for the first time in years, but he still wasn’t quite used to talking about such matters so openly.

Stark whistled from his spot on the other side of Becca’s bed, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “Damn, Rogers,” he chuckled. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Shut up, Tony,” Becca shot back lightly, the bulk of her attention still focused on Steve. He barely resisted the urge to _squirm_. He knew Becca was only excited for him, but he still hadn’t quite decided how _he_ felt about it, much less how he wanted everyone else to feel about it.

“You’ve seen him. One of us had to,” he finally quipped cheekily, pushing through his embarrassment to smirk at Stark when the other man nearly fell off his chair laughing. “I took one for the team.”

“You’re such a shit,” Becca laughed, grinning broadly at Steve. “Thank you so much for your _sacrifice_.”

Steve chuckled watched as Becca turned to reach for Tony, scolding him a little for making her laugh and pulling him back up to sit on the edge of her bed. Though she was still healing from the injuries she’d suffered during the Battle of New York, she was moving around more freely, and the healthy colour had returned to her cheeks. As a result of her swift recovery, she was leaving for an undercover mission tonight, for an indeterminate amount of time, and just thinking about it made Steve’s skin _crawl_.

He didn’t think she should be out of bed, much less going back to work, but he’d been overruled.

He should really know better than to argue with a Barnes by now—especially when one of them had known him since he’d been ninety pounds soaking wet and angry at the world.

He hadn’t stood a chance when Becca and Becky teamed up against him.

Still. Steve wasn’t enthused about the idea of Becca going undercover somewhere, without him being allowed to know _where_ she was or what she was going. He was hovering, and he _knew_ he was doing it, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

He couldn’t get the sight of Becca collapsing midway through the battle out of his head. The gut-wrenching _terror_ he’d felt at the sight of her limp form still clawed at his insides, even though she had been _fine_ by the time he returned from Asgard. She’d been moved to Tony’s residential floor when he and Thor had come back, still pale and bruised with broken bones and stitches, but _awake_.

Steve _had_ felt much _calmer_ and more grounded after he and Thor had confirmed their friendship, and it had felt _good_ to make a connection with someone who understood the parts of Steve that he barely understood himself. It had felt so entirely reassuring to connect with someone who had very little understanding of what Captain America was supposed to be, who simply wanted to know _Steve_.

And yet he’d worried almost constantly, and that worry hadn’t dissipated when he’d seen Becca again, despite what he had hoped. He had been—and still was— _painfully_ aware that Becca wasn’t a supersoldier, a trained spy, or even a fucking billionaire in an iron— _titanium alloy, Capsicle, come on—_ suit, and he wasn’t under any delusions when it came to how close they’d come to losing her during the battle.

It was actually the one thing he and Stark had been able to agree on.

It was also the reason they were both there. Steve had barely left Becca’s side since he and Thor had returned from Asgard, sleeping in the second guest room on Stark’s personal floor at the man’s invitation—though he would have found a way to stay, somehow, even if Tony hadn’t offered the use of the room. He and Becca usually spent the day sitting up on her bed or the couch, Becca eagerly demanding detailed descriptions of Asgard and Steve drawing pictures of everything he’d seen and everyone he met.

Becca and Thor had also gotten on _frighteningly_ well.

Steve was actually inordinately pleased that two of his closest friends in this century clicked so well. Thor had only spent one night on Earth before he’d been needed back in Asgard, but he had spent it with Becca and Steve, watching silly movies and making Becca laugh, giggling like children when Becca tried valiantly to stop laughing to avoid hurting herself.

But then Fury had come over the next day to offer Becca a long-term undercover job.

Steve sighed and glanced towards Becca and Stark. The other man had, actually, been just as upset as Steve had been and had spent as much time trying to convince Becca to take some more time off.

“Still,” Tony insisted, leaning forward eagerly. “I didn’t even know you were a fellow-devotee of all human forms! Unless Aunt Peggy lied to us and you weren’t into her at all. I suppose you’re just a fellow-devotee to the male form then.” 

Steve’s cheeks flushed bright red and Becca snapped, “For fuck’s sake, Tony!” She slapped at his arm, and Steve couldn’t suppress a chuckle at Stark’s indignant squawk, but J.A.R.V.I.S. interrupted them before the conversation could proceed further. “Sir, Dr. Banner has arrived,” he intoned apologetically. “He is currently awaiting your arrival on the 79th floor.”

Steve was, admittedly, distracted by J.A.R.V.I.S. and his announcement, but he didn’t miss the way Stark’s ears flushed as bright red as Steve’s cheeks still were.

It… _puzzled_ him for a moment, because Steve had been under the impression that Tony was in a romantic relationship with Ms. Potts and Colonel Rhodes, even though he had never met the latter. He’d been a little flummoxed at first to hear of a relationship involving three people, but when he had asked—shyly and blushing the whole time—Ms. Potts had been kind enough to explain it to him.

It hadn’t been a very long conversation, mostly because Steve had been blushing so hard his head nearly burst, but an informative one.

Seeing Stark blush at the thought of someone other than either of his significant others was… _worrying_.

Steve _liked_ Ms. Potts.

She’d helped him get the Smithsonian’s access to his private sketches revoked and she’d been kind to him since the day he’d met her. She’d never once made him feel foolish or like a child when he’d needed her to explain things twice or even three times before he’d fully understood the processes she’d put into motion and he just really _liked_ her.

He wouldn’t want to see her hurt.

“Well? Go on. He’s waiting for you.”

Becca’s words snapped Steve from his thoughts, and he watched as Stark suddenly burst into motion, leaving in a flurry of activity. He pressed a firm kiss to Becca’s forehead and whispered, “Do not get yourself killed, you stubborn brat,” so softly Steve was sure it Stark hadn’t meant for him to hear before he rushed out the door, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Becca giggled at Tony’s antics before she turned back before Steve, raising an eyebrow at him when he remained silent. “You okay in there, Steve?” She asked playfully, poking at his arm impishly, with a grin that reminded him all too much of the way every single one of the Barnes children had grinned when they got him in trouble—on the odd occasion Steve wasn’t the one to start the fight.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, shaking his head a little to clear it of his cumbersome thoughts. “I didn’t think Tony was _that_ fond of Dr. Banner. He’s with Ms. Potts and Colonel Rhodes, right?”

Becca drew her lower lip between her teeth and shrugged, her eyes going darker and a little concerned.

“I don’t know what he feels for Bruce,” Becca sighed. “But I’m sure he would never do anything that would compromise his relationship with Pepper and Rhodey. They’ve worked too hard to get to where they are now in their relationship. _If_ something happens, it’ll be after he talks to them about it.”

Steve nodded hesitantly, but dropped the subject regardless. It really wasn’t any of his business.

“So,” Becca said after they’d both been silent for a beat. “Tell me everything. Don’t think I didn’t notice you skipped out on the details about how you ended up kissing _Thor_ of all people.”

Steve groaned and felt his cheeks flush _again_ , dropping his head forward in his hands. “Becca,” he whined, shaking his head. “Come on. You already know we kissed, isn’t that enough?”

“No!” Becca exclaimed indignantly, smacking her hand down on the back of his shoulder, which was, incidentally, the only part of him she could actually reach. “Come _on_ , Steve. You haven’t shown an iota of interest _anyone_ —” she waved her hand at him when he lifted his head and opened his mouth to protest, “—which is no more than expected, Steve, I’m not blaming you for not being ready before. I’m just… I’m _excited_ for you, okay?”

Something in Steve’s chest unclenched and he felt _warm_. He knew Becca cared about him, that she just wanted him to be happy.

He _knew_ that.

The things that had been said on the Helicarrier still stung though, and he’d not quite gotten over the shock of finding Hydra weapons in the hands of the people he was supposed to _trust_.

“Not much more than kissing happened,” he admitted quietly, slipping on top of the bed next to Becca when she patted the spot insistently. He relaxed a little when she leaned her head on his shoulder and tapped her fingers on his wrist.

“Why didn’t it?” She asked softly, keeping her eyes on his hand, fiddling with the dog tags he’d taken to wearing around his wrist lately, so he could touch them without having to be conspicuous about it.

He sighed helplessly and dropped his head to rest on top of Becca’s.

“I didn’t want it to,” he admitted quietly. “It was nice. And maybe… Maybe I could’ve… I didn’t want to.”

He felt Becca nod against his shoulder and bit his lip, tapping his fingers on her wrist in return, a quiet signal pleading for honesty in return for his own. “Have you talked to Nat?”

Becca stiffened beside him for a split-second, and for a moment, he regretted asking. She relaxed almost immediately though, but didn’t reply until she had tugged his arm around her shoulders, using him as her personal teddy bear—she had first done it while she was still high on painkillers after they’d had to re-break a rib because it was healing wrong.

Steve didn’t mind.

He’d actually quite missed being so casually touched. Bucky and Steve had been incredibly tactile with one another their entire lives, and when the Howlies came along, that didn’t change.

Usually, it just meant a few more people joined in their cuddle pile when it was freezing on a mission.

Thor, and now Becca, had been the first people to instigate such casual physical affection again, and even if it didn’t amount to more than a hug or a hand clasped on his shoulder, Steve still relished in the contact.

“She came yesterday,” Becca finally replied, her voice small and sad. “To say goodbye before I leave.”

“Did you tell her?” Steve kept his voice soft, rubbing a thumb over her shoulder in a soothing gesture. He’d been wondering about the nature of Becca and Nat’s involvement now that the secrets between them were—mostly—gone. He hadn’t forgotten the smitten look on Becca’s face that morning in the kitchen, before _all_ of this.

“There’s nothing to tell, Steve,” she replied tersely, stiffening again.

Steve didn’t say anything to that; it was blatantly untrue. He didn’t know _what_ was going on between Becca and Nat, but he knew there was _something_. Instead, he simply tapped his fingers on her wrist again and waited for Becca to sort through her thoughts.

“I’m leaving, Steve,” she breathed. “I don’t even know when I’ll be back. Clint needs her a lot more than I do right now anyway, so…”

Steve winced a little, and he had to give her that. Clint had been a mess ever since he had found out that Agent Coulson—his husband, apparently—had died on the Helicarrier.

Clint had spent several days curled up on the other side of Becca’s ridiculously large bed—it could hold six people without them having to touch if they didn’t want to—seemingly trying to take his mind off of his husband’s demise by making sure Becca was okay, almost aggressively so. After Becca had been able to sit up on her own, he’d disappeared back to the building he owned but had told no one but Becca and Nat about, and hadn’t resurfaced yet.

Nat went by every day to make sure he was still eating and not drinking himself to death.

“You like her though,” he offered, the sight of Becca’s smitten smile still in the back of his mind.

“I liked a cover, Steve,” Becca groaned exasperatedly. “The girl I went on a date with, that I took home… She’s not real. She doesn’t _exist_. Natasha’s… She’s amazing. But I don’t think I can trust her fully, and we both deserve much better than that.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tightening his arm around her.

“Yeah,” Becca sighed. “Me too.” She shuffled around a little, getting herself more comfortable before she whispered, “I’m sorry your thing with Thor didn’t work out too.”

“We’re friends now,” Steve pointed out, feeling a little proud of himself for having made a friend so easily. “I need that a lot more than I need anything else right now. Someone who has no interest in Captain America, but still wants to know Steve Rogers.”

Becca squeezed her fingers around his wrist. “I’m sorry we sometimes forget it’s not been so long for you yet. I’ll try harder.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said resignedly. “I have friends. I have you. And Becky and Thor and Sif and the Warriors Three. Hell, I’m pretty sure even Loki doesn’t completely hate me.”

“ _Loki?_!”

Steve winced a little but nodded nonetheless.

“I mean,” he shrugged helplessly. “He’s not so bad when there’s not an evil sceptre controlling his mind. And he really loves Thor, so there’s that.”

“Huh,” Becca said thoughtfully. “I guess I didn’t imagine that after all.”

Steve frowned in confusion and looked down at her, where she’d basically sprawled against his chest.

“During the Battle,” she clarified. “I saw him watching Thor go down and… God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so terrified and horrified at the same time. Of course,” she smiled up at him beatifically. “That’s when _I_ passed out, so I was too busy to think about it.”

Steve snorted and mock-flared at her. “Too busy bleeding out and breaking bones, you mean.”

“Hey,” Becca whined as she pushed herself up. “Doc said all my bleeding was internal. That’s where the blood is supposed to be!”

Steve pressed his lips together, desperately fighting back the urge to laugh at Becca’s innocent expression that he didn’t buy for a second.

He didn’t even last a second, gasping out peals of laughter as Becca giggled, pressing the side of her face against his ribs.

They sat in silence for a while once they’d managed to stop giggling like children, Becca curled beneath Steve’s arm, scrolling through her Facebook feed on her phone listlessly. “Are you sure you have everything?” He asked after a while, glancing at the duffle bag that was leaned again the wall across the room. “Like… I dunno, passport, snacks for on the way?”

 “Steve,” Becca whined, rolling her eyes at him in what he _knew_ had to be fond exasperation. “I’m going on a mission, for God’s sake, not off to college.”

“I know,” he sighed in reply, crossing his own arms over his chest in reply. “But I worry. You’re not allowed to tell me where you’re going or what’s happening or even if I’ll be able to _help_ if you need it.”

They’d had this argument before, _several_ _times_ since Becca had told him about the mission, and Steve didn’t _want_ to have to rehash all of it all over again, but he couldn’t help it. It _bothered_ him that he wouldn’t know where she was, that he wouldn’t be available to help her if need be, even though he _knew_ she was capable of defending herself if she needed it.

“I’ll be fine,” Becca groaned. “It’s an intel gathering mission. Shouldn’t be dangerous at all. And _yes_ ,” she leaned back and wrinkled her nose at him. “I _absolutely_ need a passport for my super-secret spy shenanigans. ‘Please, Mr. Border Guard, let me into your country so I can see what your princess puts in her tea.’ Yes, Steve, that would _totally_ go over well.”

Steve couldn’t help the snort of laughter that fell from his lips, and Becca grinned too, hand pressed to her ribs even though he couldn’t see any sign of pain in her expression.

“Don’t worry about me,” she ordered, poking at his cheek with a serious frown.

“I can’t help it,” Steve shrugged, “I always worry.”

Becca nodded against his ribs and patted his stomach. “Good. Please worry about yourself while I’m gone, okay? I need to know you’re going to be okay too.”

Steve nodded.

He could do that.

He would.

——————

_It has been a busy year for our favorite genius billionaire, and it is only July!_

_From entirely unexpected, wholly dramatic love confessions at press conferences, to fighting aliens in the streets of New York, Tony Stark has certainly not been sitting still. We thought we’d give you, our devoted readers and Tony Stark’s biggest fans, his best and most_ explosive _moments of the year!_

  1. _Possibly one of the most exciting things to have happened this year was the recovery of Captain America and the Valkyrie, due to a specialized unit of Stark Industries that has been looking for our brave Captain since 1945._



_…_

  1. _While not nearly as shocking as his announcement to shut down the weapons manufacturing side of Stark Industries nearly three years ago, the announcement that Stark Industries was actively moving into the clean energy field was shocking to many people! Our favorite genius certainly delivered on his promise and has, so far, made Stark Tower entirely self-sustaining and has plans to do so for every Stark Industries concern and establishment._



_…_

  1. _While Tony Stark’s relationship with James Rhodes has not been a secret for a while, it certainly surprised the world when he stated Pepper Potts, C.E.O. of Stark Industries and former P.A. to Mr. Stark, and James Rhodes were_ both _the loves of his life. While it was originally a conference for the Avengers to address the Battle of New York, Stark stepped in after a series of questions to Captain America to announce he wanted to “marry these two one day, before they realize they’re too good for my shit and can do way better than li’l ol’ me”._



_The news that Tony Stark is in an open, polyamorous relationship with Airforce Colonel James Rhodes and C.E.O. Pepper Potts has taken the nation by surprise and has already garnered a storm of reactions, both positive and negative._

_Don’t worry though, Mr. Stark, if they won’t have you, we will!_

_…_

  1. _The undoubtedly most_ explosive _moment in the past year for our dearest Mr. Stark took place during what is now known as the Battle of New York! For as of yet unknown reasons, a nuclear warhead was fired on the city during the fight and would likely have levelled the entire city and killed millions if not for Tony Stark’s heroic efforts!_



_Sources from inside S.H.I.E.L.D. suggest that Mr. Stark directed the bomb through the wormhole himself and nearly lost his life doing so._

_Tony Stark is definitely our hero!_

_—_ C. Darwin, _‘Tony Stark’s Busy Busy Year’, E!Online,_ July 2011

——————

### Rebecca Barnes Jr. & Steve Rogers’ residence, Brooklyn, New York City, New York, United States of America  
Late July 2011

### The Asset

The asset had gained entry to into the target’s apartment immediately upon being sent out. Hydra mission control had revealed Rogers, Steven Grant and Barnes, Rebecca Danielle had yet to return to the Brooklyn apartment. The apartment building was unassuming but tidy, guarded by a security guard with a desk and at least one concealed weapon on his person.

Such security proved very little challenge for the asset. Hydra had provided him with sufficient altered identification, which boasted the asset’s code-name for the mission. Sebastian Orlovschi was elderly Mrs. Orlovschi on the third floor’s grandson, visiting his grandmother from Romania after the Chitauri disaster to ensure his _bunică_ was healthy still.

The asset noted with some interest that the apartment had been vacant for at least a full two weeks.

The air was mildly stuffy and there was a thin layer of dust that swirled up when the asset entered through the front door. If the asset were permitted to wonder over such things, he would note that the apartment was unusually large. Hydra had provided files on Barnes, Rebecca Danielle’s financials, and the asset was sure the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent would not be able to afford the space would it not belong to the Barnes family.

The asset had been shown the files minutes before sitting in the Chair. The asset had been pleased to have maintenance so soon after reading the file, because it had felt the body start to malfunction in response to seeing the Barnes family’s names listed.

Elisabeth Winifred Barnes. Mary-Grace Louise Barnes. Rebecca Anna Barnes.

Winifred Barnes and George Barnes.

Something in the asset’s chest twisted, even though it had been able to read the names and look at the corresponding pictures without issue after the Chair earlier, and it shuddered, before refocusing its attention on the apartment. The apartment was an odd hodgepodge of brightly coloured fabrics and soft pillows and dark, sleek furniture, with a white, clean kitchen that made something in the back of the asset’s mind _itch_.

The target and the agent he lived with had obviously left the apartment in a rush, leaving files strewn about the white surface of the coffee table and shoes tipped over one another in a pile by the door.

The entire space looked utterly comfortable.

The asset was unsure what the term _meant_ , but it felt like the only word in its vocabulary that would _fit_.

The asset explored the rest of the apartment with utmost efficiency, strategically placing undetectable listening devices in each room. In the living area, he placed one bug on the underside of the potted plant in the window sill and on one of the sofa legs. In the kitchen, he placed a listening device on the coffee machine and on the underside of the kitchen island.

He moved to the bedrooms quietly, eyeing the mussed covers in the master bedroom with a critical eye—it was an undeniably feminine room, and the clothes strewn about the carpeted floor clearly belonged to Barnes, Rebecca Danielle.

The asset, however, had been informed of persistent rumours concerning the target’s relationship with Barnes, Rebecca Danielle, and was determined to ascertain said rumours’ accuracy.

There was a large shirt balled up in the corner, by the door leading to the bathroom, too large to be Barnes, Rebecca Danielle’s. The asset assessed the probability of the shirt belonging to someone other than Rogers, Steven Grant as highly unlikely and frowned.

Something in the asset’s body _twisted_ again, churning unpleasantly at the evidence of the target’s presumed affair with his roommate. The asset’s arm whirred threateningly, despite the lack of threat in the room, and it stalked through to the connected bathroom, eyes narrowing at the—frankly impressive—amount of condom wrappers in the small trashcan.

At the sink, one electric toothbrush stood lonely on the left side of the little ledge, a sign that made the asset’s lips twitch upward before its eye fell upon a regular, simple blue toothbrush that had been abandoned on the side of the cabinet, hidden slightly beneath the sink.

The asset made a small noise and placed a bug in the small gap between the wall and the sheet of glass that separated the rest of the room from the shower.

The target’s room, when the asset finally reached it, looked barely lived in.

The asset’s stomach _turned_ at the sight of the bed that hadn’t been slept in, the closet with neatly pressed and folded clothes and the shoes that had been neatly lined up at the bottom of the closet.

Something didn’t feel _right_ , and the asset fidgeted throughout placing bugs—on the headboard, just below the edge of the mattress and on the back of one of the target’s running shoes—until he came upon an armchair, sat by a large window that overlooked the neighbourhood and offered a generous view of the New York skyline.

On the cream-coloured carpet beside the armchair sat an impressive pile of books, literary books and sketchbooks alike. The sight soothed the anxious feeling within the asset’s chest, but not the whirr inside the asset’s mind.

Many things in the apartment seemed out of place or did not match up with the profile the asset had been given of the target and his immediate circle of associates.

The asset’s body was beginning to rebel again. He would need additional maintenance before formulating a plan to make contact with the target.

The Asset’s eyes lingered upon the sketchbooks.

Perhaps the Chair would suffice again.

——————

_This year’s top women took the lead in navigating a rapidly changing and increasingly competitive business landscape. The ten business leaders on Forbes’ annual list of the Most Powerful Women in the World are driving their companies through social and technological changes from healthier consumer habits to nations’ ambitions for renewable energy._

_…while cultivating more positive opportunities for people of all backgrounds and openly refusing to do business with those of more archaic convictions, C.E.O. of Stark Industries Pepper Potts, No. 4 on this year’s Influential Women list, seems to have little regard for social conventions in her personal life too._

_“Love is simply love,” Potts said in an exclusive interview with Ellen DeGeneres following Tony Stark’s—one of Potts’ romantic partners—announcement of their relationship during a press conference. “I refuse to believe that the love my partners and I share is wrong simply because most of society cannot fathom three people loving each other.”_

_…Potts, who has been C.E.O. of Stark Industries since 2010, is known for making tough decisions and leading Stark Industries in new and exciting directions, such as the company’s decision to move into the renewable energy field with Tony Stark’s research into Arc technology at its forefront._

_Similarly, Pepsi C.E.O. Indra Nooyi, who moves up from No. 14 to No. 11 this year, is responding to the long-term decline in soda drinking in the U.S. by adding to her company’s healthier product lines…_  

_   **See Full List: 100 World’s Most Powerful Women** _

_—_ A. Merrick, ‘ _The 10 Most Powerful Women in Business in 2011: C.E.O.s and More With Ambitious Goals’,_ Forbes Online, July 29th 2011

——————

### Avengers Tower, New York city, New York, United States of America  
Late August 2011

### Steve

Steve hadn’t been back to the Tower in weeks, hadn’t allowed himself to venture too deep into Manhattan on purpose. He saw its buildings’ skeletal remains in his dreams every night, rubble and bodies littering the streets, aliens pouring through a hole in the sky and destroying everything he was only just beginning to hold dear.

He watched Becca collapse over and over again, watched the Hulk miss Tony and crash into a building as the Iron Man suit gave a sickening crunch when it smashed into the ground without the Hulk to slow his fall. He watched Loki cackle madly, his eyes the same electric blue as the Tesseract, stabbing a dagger between the plates of Thor’s armour and then using the blade on himself when the blue ebbed away and left only cold, grief-stricken green horror in its place.

He watched as Natasha was overwhelmed by the Chitauri and tossed off a building, Clint getting hit by one of his own arrows.

He watched _Bucky_ fall, over and over and over again.

He watched everyone he could easily see himself caring for in time perish around him, and he _wasn’t_ _enough_ to save them. He’d never been enough to save the people he cared about, the people he _loved_ , but it hadn’t been until he was forced to fight _aliens_ that the point was driven home.

He’d lost Bucky. He’d almost lost Becca and would have lost Becky, too, if the aliens had made it past their defences. He’d almost lost the team because of his own incompetency.

He hadn’t been avoiding the team on purpose, but with Clint maintaining his self-imposed exile after Becca left, Thor remaining in Asgard to stave off any mischief Loki would get up to out of sheer boredom, Tony in Malibu doing God knows what, and Natasha doing… spy stuff, it had been relatively easy to avoid facing the others.

He’d stuck to his routine though, more easily than he had thought he’d be able to.

Becky had insisted on continuing their standing brunch date on Sunday after she had gone to church—and _Lord_ , was that a subject Steve didn’t want to think about, didn’t even want to _touch,_ that Becky somehow knew to steer clear of too—and adding dinner once a week to the list. Fury, for all his faults, had insisted Steve take on a sparring partner for additional training, even if he wasn’t willing to take him up on his job offer.

Steve Rogers was, contrary to popular belief, not a complete moron, even though he had to admit his self-preservation instincts weren’t always spot-on. He’d put up a token protest, but he hadn’t really been able to refute the fact that the way people fought, the way _bad guys_ and bullies fought, had changed in the past seventy years. He’d need to adapt the way he fought to be able to keep fighting off bullies.

He would, under extreme duress, admit that allowing Fury and Natasha to handpick two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to help him train in mixed martial arts was one of his better decisions in this century.

On the other hand, the male agent—a cocky son of a bitch named Brock Rumlow—severely tested Steve’s patience, and if it wasn’t for Natasha’s fervent recommendation and the soft, tender way Brock and his partner Sharon—Peggy’s niece, hadn’t _that_ been a nice surprise—looked at each other, Steve’s pretty sure he would have punched him in the face upon meeting the man.

Of course, he also would have taken him out for drinks after, because Rumlow was an asshole, but Steve knew he could be one too.

Martial arts sessions had turned out more fun than he’d expected, and a _great_ way to blow off steam.

And yet… Becca had been gone for just over a month, and he hadn’t heard from Thor in two weeks, since he last returned to Asgard to attend to his duties there.

He wasn’t _lonely_ , per se, but he’d become uncomfortably aware of how much of his life had been shared with Becca. He attended brunch with Becky every Sunday morning still, and made sure to go to his therapy sessions even when he could barely bring himself to get out of bed. He made an effort because he could _feel_ that he was headed for a string of bad days.

He didn’t _want_ to spiral again.

Steve was afraid he was spiralling anyway.

He’d been seeing… _things_. _Bucky_.

He’d been avoiding leaving the apartment as much as he could because he kept seeing Bucky everywhere and it _frightened_ him and made him feel _hopeless_. Clint’s phone call, early this morning, had forced his hand, though, and Steve had reluctantly showered and left the relative safety of the apartment, taking the subway into Manhattan to get to the Tower.

The Tower was still as big and ugly as it had been the day Steve left it, a day after Becca had, albeit in much better shape and with far less shattered glass and fewer crumbled walls. The lobby was filled with people in suits, rushing in and out of the elevators as they talked on various fancy cell phones.

Steve smiled faintly at the sight of the hustle and bustle, because it was _proof_ , proof of humanity’s resilience, of their fortitude. Here they stood, in the Tower right below the former hole in the sky, not three months after disaster had struck, and things were seemingly right back to normal.

He let his eyes travel across the faces in the lobby absently, vaguely making note of the dark-haired woman talking to one of the security guards with a baby perched on her hip, gesturing wildly with one hand. Her skin was a russet, reddish-brown, beautiful even under the harsh lights of the lobby. His eyes drifted from her to the tall, portly business man that was sweating into his three-piece suit while he talked into an earphone, cheeks flushed with heat and annoyance as he paced back and forth in the waiting area.

There were all kinds of people meandering through the large lobby, and Steve resolved to just _sit_ here one day, with the sketchbook and charcoals Frigga had gifted him with, and draw _everyone_.

His eyes travelled across a young man that was standing just outside the door, without seeing him, briefly admiring the sharp line of his jaw and the greyish blue of his eyes, before he stepped inside. He took two more steps before his memory caught up with what he’d seen and he _froze_.

For one, excruciatingly short heartbeat, _Bucky_ looked back at him, lips parted like he hadn’t expected to see Steve here either—and then a flock of teenagers passed between them, tittering and giggling as they moved down the sidewalk.

By the time they were gone, so was Bucky.

If he’d ever been there to begin with.

Steve let a shuddering breath fall from his lips and ran his shaking hands through his hair, slipping back around the corner, into the alley right beside the Tower to collect himself. He _knew_ that Bucky couldn’t be here, in Manhattan, in the 21 st century.

He _knew_ that, and he _understood_ that, but he… he kept seeing him.

Never for more than a moment, and never close enough to _touch_ , but so often that Steve wondered if his nightmares had started to follow him into the daylight. He felt like he was slowly cracking, to an extent that he was almost afraid to talk about what he’d seen even with Karen-the-therapist.

It was, however, the first time he’d seen him outside of Brooklyn, outside of the boundaries of their past lives, somewhere Steve knew Bucky would never have set foot back in the forties. It was the first time he’d been so _close_ , close enough that Steve would have been able to _touch_ —

He shook his head determinately.

He needed to stop that train of thought in its tracks. He _couldn’t_ touch Bucky, because Bucky was _gone_. He’d been gone for seventy years, and no matter how Steve missed him, not even Steve’s force of will was enough to bring back people from the dead.

He kept seeing Bucky because he kept putting himself in situations where he _had_ seen Bucky, before.

Karen-the-therapist had told him that seeing people that had died meant he was not dealing with his guilt towards Bucky properly, that he wasn’t _dealing_ with it at all.

He didn’t know if that was true.

Maybe it was. He _should have_ caught Bucky, should have been _faster_ , _stronger_ —he should have _demanded_ they go looking for Bucky after they’d brought in Zola.

He should have done a lot of things.

Not that that helped him at all right now. He had a meeting to get to, and he didn’t want to make Clint worry about him too, on top of the archer’s own grief. It took him another few moments to stop trembling, to stop feeling like he was going to fall apart at the seams.

He pressed his head back against the brick wall for a moment, relishing in the feel of the harsh stone texture against the back of his skull before he pushed away from it and walked back into the lobby. He held his head high and waved at the tall man at the reception desk—Andrew, if Steve’s memory served him correctly—as he headed for the elevator designated for Avenger-use only.

“Good morning, Captain,” J.A.R.V.I.S. greeted him as the elevator doors swished closed. “Your floor?”

Steve sighed a little and leaned his head back against the cool metal of the elevator wall. “No,” he said tiredly. “Gym, please, Jarvis. Is Clint here already?”

Steve didn’t try to think too hard about the fact that Tony had several floors converted just to suit every Avengers’ needs. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for Tony’s generosity, or that he disliked the idea of having somewhere else to retreat when the empty apartment became too much to bear, but Steve could still barely stand the idea of so much money being spent on him.

He’d nearly had a heart attack the first time he went grocery shopping with Becca and saw the price of a single loaf of bread. He dreaded to think what his floor must have cost Tony, even if it would hardly put a dent in the man’s wealth. 

“Mr. Barton is currently on the roof, Captain,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied calmly, pulling Steve from his thoughts. “Shall I inform him of your arrival and request he join you?”

“Please,” Steve nodded, closing his eyes when the elevator began its descent into the basement levels of the Tower, where Tony had put the reinforced gym. He knew Clint had asked him to the Tower because he wanted to talk about something, but there was no reason he couldn’t get some training in at the same time.

He hadn’t been able to _really_ punch any of the punching bags in the local boxing gym, for fear of punching them straight through the wall. He didn’t have to worry about anything so mundane here—all of the equipment had been designed to withstand far more than Steve’s temper.

He needed to work off the _frustration_ that coursed through his veins before he’d see Clint, before he needed to be the strong, steady Captain the team had come to see him as. Much as he liked to pretend he was fine, seeing Bucky outside of Brooklyn, outside of where Steve had almost come to _expect_ seeing him, had rattled him and he felt decidedly unsettled.

He was almost _relieved_ to find the gym empty and whipped the hoodie he’d worn over his head, tossing it and the specially designed bag to hold the shield carelessly towards the benches that lined the walls, rolling his shoulders before aiming a punch at the nearest reinforced punching bag—painted in bright red, white and blue, because Tony thought he was _hilarious_.

By the time Clint appeared, he’d torn through two of the punching bags and punched a hole in the wall. His breathing was fast and erratic in a way it hadn’t been in _months_ , even as he tried to calm himself, to be strong so Clint would feel he could confide in him.

“Hey Cap,” Clint approached him carefully, hands raised just a little, like he was some kind of wild animal—although he had to admit he did sort of feel like a cornered animal.

“You’re bleeding,” Clint remarked quietly, and for the first time, Steve realised he’d forgotten to tape his hands before he began. The skin on his knuckles was cracked, drops of blood forming on the surfaces, and he could tell by the odd angle of two of his fingers that he’d dislocated and possibly broken them.

He hadn’t even noticed.

“Oh,” Steve said quietly, detachedly.

He swallowed thickly, tensing uncomfortably when Clint stepped closer to wrap his fingers around Steve’s wrist and to guide Steve back to the benches, pulling a first aid kit seemingly out of nowhere, even though Steve knew Tony kept the gym fully stocked for all kinds of sports-related injuries.

He watched, feeling oddly detached, as Clint fussed over his knuckles, cleaning the cuts and taping his knuckles, even though they’d be fully healed within the hour.

“Anything you wanna talk about, Cap?” Clint said casually, patting his hand on the back of Steve’s contently when he finished bandaging his knuckles. Steve resolutely kept his eyes on Clint’s bright purple hearing aids, a little stunned still to see an apparatus that could have made his life a lot easier when he’d been a ninety-pound asthmatic.

“Not particularly,” he admitted slowly, leaning back against the wall. “Just… bad day.”

Clint nodded in understanding, and Steve was eternally grateful when the archer didn’t push the issue.

“So,” Clint said, leaping back to his feet smoothly, clapping his hands together with such enthusiasm it startled Steve for a moment. “I don’t feel like talking yet either. Let’s try to beat the crap out of each other for a bit.” He grinned at Steve, a little manically, and winked. “You know, team bonding and all.”

“Well,” Steve deadpanned. “If it’s for team bonding,” he stood up and picked up the bag that held the shield, “I wouldn’t want to be the weak link in the chain.”

Clint grinned. “Excellent. Bring it, Cap.”

——————

### Undisclosed Hydra base, New York city, New York, United States of America

### The Asset

The asset sat on the gurney as the technicians had directed, holding out the arm for maintenance, grinding teeth on the biteplate that had been shoved in its mouth. In the corner, other technicians with Hydra’s symbol sewn onto the shoulders of their clothes were preparing the Chair, and for the first time that it could recall, the asset felt a hint of apprehension at the sight of it.

The asset had been following the target for close to a month now, initiating sightings every other day, sometimes multiple times a day, never allowing the Captain to see him for longer than a few moments, and never showing himself outside of the bounds that had been set by mission parameters.

The Captain had tried to follow him fourteen times before he had stopped. Now, when the target spotted the asset, his eyes went sad and soft, something in their blue depths _shattering_ something within the asset each time. The asset had caught himself almost giving himself away far too many times in the wake of that particular look on the Captain’s face.

It was unnerving.

The asset clearly required more maintenance if it could be so easily swayed by an enemy agent’s display of emotion—the asset needed to _request_ such additional maintenance.

The asset did _not_ request additional maintenance.

The asset’s _vulnerability_ would not yet interfere with the mission and its parameters. Additional maintenance, as such, could be postponed.

It continued to follow the target, learning the Captain’s routine and ensuring the target’s mental health continued to decline in accordance to Hydra’s extensive plans. The asset had allowed twenty-seven sightings in total, not including today’s sighting by Avengers Tower.

Today’s sighting had not been planned.

The asset had not planned to allow the target to see him outside of Brooklyn yet.

“Soldier,” agent Rumlow barked as he strode into the room confidently, flanked by two junior agents the asset did not recognise. “Mission report.”

The asset complied promptly and turned its head to face the handler. Agent Rumlow had been assigned to the asset’s current mission due to its nature and Agent Rumlow’s current close connection to the target. The asset did not like Agent Rumlow and found the man inept and prone to impulsive actions in an attempt to gain personal glory.

The asset hoped that Agent Rumlow would conveniently—and accidentally, of course—walk out in front of one of the asset’s bullets.

“The target continued the pre-established routine until approximately 0700 hours, when he received a phone call from one Barton, Clinton Francis. Audio from the wiretaps was insufficient to determine the nature of the conversation, so the asset followed the target to Avengers Tower. The target arrived there at approximately 0800 hours.”

Rumlow nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. “And the unexpected sighting?”

The asset did not flinch or wince and continued his mission report unperturbedly. “The target spotted the asset when the asset was forced to adjust its position due to heavy foot traffic outside of Avengers Tower. The asset was not compromised for longer than any of the other sightings.”

Agent Rumlow seemed to contemplate that before he nodded. “Calculate percentage of mission success. Have the sightings rattled him enough?”

The asset tilted its head slightly to the right and narrowed its eyes, calculating the effects of the various sightings on the Captain by taking into account the way the Captain had responded each time, the level of melancholy displayed by the target over time and the increased amount of time spent in isolation from the rest of the world.

“The target did not attempt to follow the asset again. The target _did_ take thirteen and a half minutes in an alley to the side of Avengers Tower to collect himself after the sighting,” the asset intoned dully, frowning a little at the dull ache the words caused in the body’s chest. “Based on previous behaviour, the asset estimates it will not take more than a few weeks to break the target and prep him for reconditioning as set in the mission parameters.”

“Good,” Agent Rumlow nodded. “Let’s step it up a notch. It’s time to initiate Phase Two.”

——————

### Avengers Tower, New York city, New York, United States of America

### Steve

Hours later, muscles burning with strain and his head feeling clearer than it had in _days_ , Steve grinned as he lobbed the shield back to Clint, eyes flicking to his watch for barely a moment to check the time. He usually wouldn’t care much, but he hadn’t even realised it was Tuesday until Clint had mentioned it off-handedly.

Nat would be meeting with Becca today.

The meetings happened every week, if possible, and every other week if not. Steve wasn’t entirely sure of how Nat became involved as Becca’s handler, but he was actually pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to know about it at all. Nat had told him, right after she’d taken over from Becca’s original handler, swearing him and Clint to secrecy with promises of updates on how Becca was doing.

Steve still _chafed_ under not being allowed to know—

But it _helped_.

It helped, knowing Becca was doing fine, that she was able to smuggle him notes through Nat to assure him that _yes_ , her ribs were healing fine, _no_ , she wasn’t doing anything stupid.

He’d been so out of it lately that he’d completely missed that today was the day of their check-in. They hadn’t had a physical check-in in a few weeks due to Becca’s co-workers getting a little suspicious of the mysterious so-called long-distance girlfriend that kept showing up so regularly.

Steve couldn’t _blame_ them.

He’d probably be a little suspicious too.

Still, the idea that no one in S.H.I.E.L.D. had seen Becca in person in over three weeks…

It made him… _twitchy._

It reminded him all too much of the night terrors, where he lost sight of her for only a moment before she got hurt, before he was too late to save her too.

He tried to be subtle about checking his watch, because the last time Clint had caught him anxiously checking his watch, he’d compared Steve to a dog sitting at the door waiting for its owner to come home with its tail wagging and laughed for six minutes straight.

“You know, Phil used to talk about you all the time,” Clint said, a little abruptly, effectively drawing Steve out of his head, just in time to catch the shield as Clint tossed it back at him.

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow and tossed the shield back again. “You know what, I did get the vague idea he might be a fan.”

That was, of course, the understatement of the century.

Phil Coulson had not tried to conceal his fascination for Captain America whatsoever. Within four hours of meeting Steve, he’d already told him he’d watched him sleep, asked him to sign his trading cards, and revealed he’d had a hand in designing the suit that was tighter than the tights they’d made Steve wear during the USO tour—at least _those_ had been stretchy.

Steve hadn’t known him well, but he was still incredibly saddened by the man’s demise at Loki’s hand.

Thor had told him Loki had refused to let Thor into his rooms for four consecutive days when he fully remembered Coulson’s death and his part in it. Loki’s memories, apparently, were fuzzy where the sceptre’s influence had pushed him beyond his moral boundaries—grey and muddled as those morals might have been in the first place—to act on someone else’s behalf.

Clint had only nodded when Thor conveyed Loki’s sincere regret, but he didn’t accept the apology Loki had extended in addition to that regret. Steve didn’t blame him, and neither did Thor or Loki. Clint suffered doubly under Loki’s attack on Earth, first by losing his own agency, and then his husband.

Clint chuckled dryly, spinning the shield in his hands clumsily. “He’d have a conniption if he saw me holding this thing. He nearly _did_ have one when they found you—closest I’ve ever seen, that’s for damn sure.”

Steve chuckled and pushed his hands into his pockets. He was sure Clint was right—he could just _imagine_ Coulson’s expression. “You know I’d have let him have the damn thing if he wanted it,” he finally said, frowning a little as he looked up at Clint, who looked positively agonised, despite the relatively fond, happy tone of their conversation.

He, admittedly, had only known Clint for a short while, and not very well either, considering he hadn’t known the man was married until after the Battle of New York, despite getting coffee with him regularly for weeks before that, but he considered the archer a friend nonetheless.

Even when Clint had been at his deepest, lowest point, Steve hadn’t seen him look like this.

“Clint, what’s wrong?” he urged quietly, stepping forward to pluck the shield from Clint’s restless hands. “You’re being weird. I know I’m not Becca… or Nat. But you _can_ talk to me.”

It was a testament to just how _weird_ Clint was being that he didn’t actually _argue_.

Instead, the shorter man’s shoulders slumped and he heaved a sigh, nodding towards the low benches on the far end of the gym. Clint sagged down on the bench and steadily avoided Steve’s eye when he set the shield down and took a seat beside him. Clint reached for one of the bottles of water that Stark kept in the little fridge in the gym and guzzled half of it down before he finally made an attempt to talk.

“I may have… done something… stupid,” Clint finally said, restlessly picking at the label on the bottle.

Steve wrinkled his nose in confusion, because _hell_ , between the two of them, Steve would say _he_ was the one more prone to acts of pure stupidity—he was stubborn, but not entirely without self-awareness—and as far as he knew, Clint had barely left his apartment since Becca had left on her mission.

“Okay,” he drawled slowly. “Stupid as in ‘I-need-help-hiding-the-body’ stupid or just regular stupid?”

Clint chuckled faintly and shook his head, looking up to smile weakly at Steve before he said, “Stupid as in ‘my-body-might-be-the-one-you-have-to-hide’ stupid”. He tossed the bottle to Steve as he spoke, and the suddenness of the movement and the obvious attempt to distract him startled a laugh from him as he fumbled to catch the bottle before it hit the ground.

“So what did you do?”

He raised an eyebrow and gaped at his friend when another realisation set in. “ _Who_ did you do?”

Clint’s cheeks flushed and Steve _wanted_ to laugh, _wanted_ to grin, but his amusement disappeared like snow before the fucking sun. If Clint had kissed someone or made a move it would be the first time since his husband had died, and Steve remembered that feeling all too well.

It wasn’t something he’d have wished on anyone, least of all Clint.

“You know how Nat’s been staying with me lately?” Clint asked hesitantly, and Steve had to fight to keep a straight face.

“You… _fondued_ with _Natasha?”_ he choked out, surprise and bafflement clear in his tone, and Clint winced a little—at Steve’s unfortunate choice of words as well as at his tone, Steve wasn’t  sure—before he shrugged.

“We didn’t exactly _fondue_ ,” Clint replied, echoing Steve’s words back to him, a small smile on his lips, almost like he couldn’t help himself. “I think I freaked her out. That’s why she left so suddenly, I guess… I shouldn’t have done it, and I… I wasn’t _ready_ to, but she—I’ve always…”

“I get it,” Steve interrupted, patting his hand on Clint’s shoulder. “ _Trust me_ , I get it. Just… I didn’t think you and Nat were… like that,” he concluded awkwardly. He _hadn’t_ known, honestly. He was under the impression that, much as Nat liked to act like she wasn’t, she was actually more affected by Becca’s absence than she said.

He’d also thought that Clint was still in love with his late husband.

Of course, he had still been in love with Bucky when he’d kissed Thor, so he couldn’t exactly deny that Clint’s predicament was entirely unlikely. Steve had been lucky that Thor had been understanding of the way Steve had felt and hadn’t been insulted.

“We weren’t,” Clint shrugged. “Not really, anyway. But then we were drinking, and talking, and I just…” Clint trailed off, dropping his head in his hands and shrugging helplessly.

Steve bit his lip and sighed. “Yeah. It’ll creep up on you like that.”

It had crept up on him like that, too.

“I wasn’t _thinking_ ,” Clint admitted sullenly, without lifting his head from his hands. “She was just… she was so beautiful and _scary_ and I just… I wanted to kiss her. So… I did.”

Steve didn’t _mean_ to snort at Clint—he _didn’t._ If anything, he was most sympathetic to Clint’s predicament, having been in it himself not so long ago.

It was just… it was just _such_ a Clint move to make.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, shaking his head a little as he clapped a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise, it’s just… _of course_ you kissed her because you thought she looked beautiful and _scary_.”

Clint pouted at him, but Steve could see the laughter in Clint’s eye even if the other man kept it in. “You’re such a little shit,” Clint said accusingly, poking a finger in Steve’s chest.

Steve grinned beatifically at him and fluttered his eyelashes ridiculously. “No one will ever believe you.” He smirked at Clint for a moment more while the other man squinted at him.

Eventually, Clint broke first, shaking his head and sighing. “I know, man. I just don’t know what to do with her. She ran away. Literally!” Steve watched with growing amusement as Clint flapped his hands in frustration.

“I am not _that_ bad a kisser,” he insisted, pointing one finger at Steve, almost daring him to disagree.

Steve slapped at Clint’s finger and shrugged. “I’m sure you’re not. D’you know where she is now? I mean, she’s supposed to check in with Becca tonight, right?”

He didn’t expect the face Clint made at that, and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m almost a hundred percent sure she’s been with Becca since she left my place,” Clint admitted miserably, shoulders drooping and lower lip pushing out into a minuscule pout. “I mean, I can handle it when she’s not interested in me, or if she and Becca are still… _you know_. I just wish she’d tell _me_ that.”

Steve frowned a little at that observation. After his conversation with Becca, he’d assumed Nat wasn’t hung up on Becca either. He supposed he could’ve been wrong. He’d never really _asked_ Nat about her fling with Becca—they weren’t that close.

“I’m sure they’re okay,” he finally mused, patting Clint on the shoulder. “And Nat will be back to talk to you soon enough.”

He fell silent for a moment and regarded his friend seriously. “Clint,” he said slowly, mulling the words over in his head before he said them aloud. “Are you sure you’re prepared for what it might mean if she _does_ want to kiss you back?”

Clint stared at him, lips parted a little. “No,” he finally replied hoarsely. “I don’t know. But I’ve got to try to be.”  

——————

_The sudden bombing of the Chinese Theater a few hours ago was just claimed by the leader of terrorist group the Ten Rings, known only as the Mandarin. In his video-message, broadcasted to the world via hacked TV signals, he describes the man that bombed the plaza as “one of the brave soldiers fighting our war, teaching the American people a lesson,” and praises this unnamed soldier for his actions which left fifteen dead and many more critically injured._

_…Mandarin has claimed several attacks over the past few months, the first of which was a bombing in a Seattle nightclub, where ten were killed and dozens more were injured. Similar bombs have been used in attacks in Seattle, Amsterdam, San Diego, London, New York, Vienna, Brussels, Montreal, and Los Angeles._

_…Ten Rings have been linked to several attacks in the past ten years… but there is not much known about this last attack yet. Stay tuned for more._

—R. Sahni, _‘Mandarin Claims Responsibility for L.A. Attack’, The Los Angeles Times, September 15 th, 2011_

——————

### Rebecca Barnes Jr. & Steve Rogers’ residence, Brooklyn, New York City, New York, United States of America  
September 15th, 2011

### The Asset

The asset stood over the target as he lay on his bed—in the bedroom the asset had previously assumed was unused—blinking blearily at the ceiling, pupils dilated and unseeing.

The asset had been given a detailed outline, a plan to follow closely to ensure the evening would have the desired effect on the target. Phase Two had commenced successfully, and the asset had arranged more frequent sightings, dressed as directed by two of his handlers.

Once, they had taken the arm and dressed the asset in an old, torn uniform, stained with dirt and blood as it stood in a dark corner of the Captain’s bedroom, waiting for him to wake to whisper, “I needed you, Steve. Where were you?”

The Captain’s face on that day haunted the asset still, despite frequent maintenance.

The asset was quite certain they were close to breaking the Captain, but the asset had to admit the strength of the man’s will was admirable. None of the other targets it had been sent to had held out as long as the Captain had.

Today’s sighting had been carefully planned to the very last detail, leaving no room for error.

At 2030 hours, the Captain had received the three pizza’s he had ordered, the sauce and crust on each one spiked with a sedative that had been designed for the asset itself. In accordance to their plan, it did not knock out the target, but made him so drowsy and confused he would later be unable to tell what was real and what was hallucination.

The asset had been dressed in a sharply pressed suit, hair slicked back and jaw shaved smooth in a way that made something in the back of the asset’s brain _itch_ —a shadow of a memory.

“Bucky,” the Captain sighed when the Soldier knelt by the target’s side. “Buck, I’m glad you’re here.”

“I missed you, Stevie,” the asset crooned softly, dragging flesh fingers through the target’s soft, golden hair as it’d been directed to. “Why haven’t you come to me yet? I been waiting real’ patient for ya, pal.”

The Captain made a soft, pained sound and flapped his large hand towards the asset clumsily. “M’sorry,” he whimpered, “I wanna, Buck, I really wanna. Can’t yet. Supposed to _do_ things.” The asset watched, the body’s chest feeling odd and tight, as the Captain pushed his face into the asset’s flesh hand’s touch.

The sight of it raised puzzling feelings within the asset.

The _feel_ of the targets soft golden locks between the asset’s flesh fingers was like _lightening_ to the asset’s nerves, and it nearly withdrew altogether. Such… such _pleasurable_ feeling could not be allowed, could it? Surely the code name the Captain had bestowed on him was not authorised?

“Buck,” the Captain sighed, almost contently.

The sight of him _confused_ the asset, and it needed a moment to collect itself—a disturbingly _human_ need—before it remembered the lines and instructions it had been given.

“We’re waiting for ya, Steve,” it hummed softly, tenderly, flesh fingers never ceasing their gentle movement through the Captain’s hair. The asset felt oddly out of place, a lethal weapon where there should be something— _someone_ —softer. “We’re all here. You can come home, _Stevie_.”

When questioned later, the asset could not say what possessed him to allow the affectionate nickname to fall from its lips. It was not even sure where it came up with the nickname.

The Captain _whimpered_ in response to the asset’s words, a high, needy sound that made something in the body _respond_. The asset startled when it found its hands—metal and flesh—slipping down to cup the back of the Captain’s neck without its permission. The Captain seemed quite pleased with the turn of events, tilting his head up obligingly beneath the pressure of the asset’s insistent fingers.

“Bucky,” the Captain whispered, hands clumsily pawing at the asset’s armour. “Bucky, _please_.”

This was not covered in the mission briefing. The asset stared at the Captain, frozen in its position leaning over the Captain’s body, hands still trapped between the Captain’s head and the pillow.

The asset wasn’t sure what the Captain was asking him to do.

It remained like that—static, frozen—for a heartbeat, staring at the Captain’s intensely blue eyes, before the Captain lurched forward and pressed his lips to the asset’s.

The Asset remained frozen, mind whirring and eyes wide.

It did not know what to do.

The body, however, seemed to know exactly what to do, moving without the Asset’s permission to straddle the Captain’s slim hips, pressing its weight down, and when the asset slid his tongue against the Captain’s, the target mewled and went entirely pliant beneath the asset’s weight.

It was… it was a bizarre extension of the mission parameters, but the most wonderful the asset had ever experienced. It would… it would _rattle_ the target if the asset drew away suddenly, as was today’s mission’s express purpose.

The asset _would_ pull away.

 _After_.

 _After_ it found that little patch of oversensitive skin behind the target’s right ear and made him _squirm_.

The asset stilled, lips parting from the Captain’s with a soft, wet sound, and it was almost deaf to the sound of the Captain whining at the asset’s retreat. The sound was… _familiar_ , in the way holding a weapon was, in the way the asset _knew_ that the Chair meant it had failed.

The asset didn’t have the right words to describe the feeling that tangled in its insides, clamping down on his stomach like a vice. It _ached_ , pulling on something in the asset’s back-up files, something that was no longer there—something that caused _blinding pain_ when it tried to reach for it anyway.

The asset whined in distress, slipping from the bed and the Captain’s lap clumsily, stumbling _away_ , away from the sound, from the taste of the Captain’s skin, from the thing that made the asset’s head feel like it had stabbed itself in the ear with its new shiny, sharp Mark II.

“Bucky, no,” the Captain grumbled from his spot on the bed, and when the asset turned, eyes squinted and hands tangled in its own hair, it could see the Captain struggling to sit up, swaying in place precariously, one hand stretched out towards the asset.

“Please,” the Captain— _‘Steve,’_ a voice in the back of the asset’s mind insisted, ‘ _Stevie_ ’—pleaded, blue eyes wide and clearer than they had been.

“No,” the asset snarled, backing away from the Captain— _the target_ —until its back hits the wall. “No. No, you should have saved me,” the asset was whispering, the words falling from his lips without permission, without _thought_ , because there were _images_ in its head, and _memories_ , flashes of thought and conversation that didn’t _make sense—_

The asset—the asset _remembered_.

It— _he_ … he remembered _falling_ , remembered the Captain screaming, his hand outstretched towards the asset, those same wide blue eyes staring at him in horror—remembered an abandoned village in Hungary, hot hands slipping across bare skin and moans muffled behind palms—remembered _pain_ and waiting, _believing—_ remembered a small, skinny kid with the most breath-taking smile looking up at him mutinously before taking his hand—remembered being shown a newspaper that proudly boasted ‘A Nation Mourns: Captain America Lost In Arctic—War Hero Presumed Killed In Action!’

“Why didn’t you save me, Stevie?” the asset—Bucky, his name was _Bucky_ —sobbed, knees buckling and hitting the carpeted floor _hard_. “I waited for you. I waited but you never came.”

The Captain _broke_ , attempting valiantly to stumble across the carpeted floor towards the asse— _Bucky_ , but crumpled halfway through, eyes rolling back in his head as the door burst open and Agent Rumlow strode inside, followed closely by two junior agents and two others he didn’t recognise right away, all with weapons drawn. One technician, holding a syringe of milky white liquid followed at a more sedate pace, eyes fixed on the Captain’s crumpled form. 

The Ass—Bucky responded without thinking, lurching to his feet and planting himself between Hydra and the Captain—his Captain, _his Stevie_.

“Don’t touch him,” he hissed venomously, body moving automatically to pull the gun strapped to his ankle. His head was still spinning and he was afraid to blink for fear he’d keel over and Rumlow would be able to do whatever he wanted to the Captain—he _couldn’t._

 _He couldn’t_ let them near Steve.

For a long, drawn-out moment, it seemed like no one moved—like no one even drew breath—and then one of the junior agent’s hands twitched towards their second, not-so-concealed weapon and Bucky didn’t hesitate. He swung the gun around, pulling the trigger three times in a carefully controlled array of bullets, hitting the first one—the twitchy new agent—square between the eyes.

The second and third, flanking Rumlow, fell in rapid succession.

He had not felt like this in…. He didn’t know how long.

Killing had been _easy_ for so long it made him nauseous to consider it, but now, though his body moved with grace and speed that only came with _years_ of practice, his heart was pounding and there was a rushing noise in his ears. He dodged a punch from Rumlow and swung the metal fist into one of the other agent’s faces, breath agitated and rushed.

He felt untethered, unbalanced in the absence of his mission in a way he couldn’t remember ever feeling before—but he _couldn’t_ stop, couldn’t _let_ himself think too hard. The mission might be gone, but Steve wasn’t, and Bucky would _always_ fight tooth and nail to keep his Stevie safe.

He didn’t know much, but he knew that.

Steve moved minutely behind him, and his heart _skipped_ a beat in his chest, even though he didn’t let his gun waver and kept his eye on Rumlow and his tech that cowered by the door. “You don’t have to die,” he said steadily, eyes flicking towards the terrified tech for a split-second before he looked back at Rumlow. “But if you try to come anywhere near him again, I _will_ kill you.”

He was rattled, to say the least, when Rumlow didn’t appear impressed at all, but fought not to show his surprise. He remembered that Rumlow was a cocky son of a bitch, but he wouldn’t have thought the man was obtuse enough to think he could take on the Winter Soldier after he’d seen him take down four men in less than a minute. 

“Do you honestly think we’d let you walk out of here, _asset_?” Rumlow sneered, lowering his own weapon—much to Bucky’s astonishment—and smirking. “You’re the Fist of Hydra. Do you think your _Captain_ ,” Rumlow sneered, “will keep you safe? Do you think he’ll _want_ to, after he hears what you’ve done? Who you’ve killed?”

Bucky felt nausea climb back up, stomach twisting at the thought of Steve turning away from him in anger, in _disgust_ , and his head _ached_ , but he _refused_ to back down. “It doesn’t matter,” he spat, levelling Rumlow with the most threatening glare he could manage. “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill anyone I need to to protect him, and you can’t stop me.”

Rumlow’s smirk turned _smug_ and Bucky’s stomach dropped.

“Actually,” Rumlow grinned. “I can. _Спутник_.”

The Asset stilled, stomach still roiling, but recognising the phrase immediately.

 _Sputnik. Comply_.

“Drop the weapon,” the handler ordered curtly, and the body responded before the asset’s mind had even thoroughly comprehended the order. The weapon clattered to the floor with a muffled _thump_ , and the handler kicked it away as he approached. “Now _watch_ ,” he told the asset, grabbing the flesh arm to turn the asset around roughly, making it watch the man that lay crumpled on the floor.

Something in the asset’s chest _ached_ at the sight, and its breath hitched.

“ _Watch_ ,” the handler ordered as a technician stepped forward, a single syringe held up with trembling hands. “We’re going to give him another dose, and you’re going to tell him that he should have saved you, and that you’ll never forgive him for not doing so. You’re going to _destroy_ your precious _Captain.”_

The asset shook its head minutely, before it even realised what it was doing, but as soon as the tip of the needle disappeared into the blond man’s skin, the asset fell to his knees beside him.

“I waited,” the asset’s voice said without its permission. “You should have saved me. I won’t—” Its breath hitched again, but the asset pushed through because he had been given a _mission_. “I won’t ever forgive you for not saving me,” it finished, barely able to ignore the way the blond man groaned softly, twisting away from the asset as though he could escape the asset’s words that way.

“Excellent,” the handler nodded in approval. “You’re finished. Look at me, _asset_.”

The asset did.

Agent Rumlow’s smile turned cruel and he patted his hand on the asset’s cheek. “ _щит_.”

The world went dark.                                            

——————

### Steve

Bucky’s words, thick and laden with emotion, pained and _heartbroken_ , echoed in Steve’s mind even after his visions, his dreams, his _fucking hallucinations_ had disappeared. Steve didn’t know if he wanted to cry or if he wanted to follow Bucky to wherever he’d gone, so he could find a way to ensure Bucky knew that Steve had always loved him best; that Steve would have always put Bucky first if Bucky would only have let him.

He felt like he was sleeping, the world around him muted and dull now that Bucky was no longer there, and Steve couldn’t remember _why_ he would have wanted to wake up in the first place.

Time passed syrupy slow, and Steve didn’t move from where he laid, on the floor by his bed. Images of the Howlies played on repeat in his mind, the serum’s ability to give him the ability to watch his memories with crystal clarity a curse like never before, because he _saw_ all the ways he’d let Bucky and his team down, he saw the ways he should have been _better_ , _faster—_

_Why hadn’t he been faster?_

Bucky’s trembling voice, thick with tears and disbelief as he whispered, “Why didn’t you save me?” repeated itself over and over, and Steve _hated_ that he didn’t have an answer.

He should’ve saved him.

He thought time passed while he stared at nothing, while he _tried_ , tried so hard to figure out what he needed to do to make things right again.

Steve thought he drifted off again.

When he woke up, there was a gun lying a few feet away. A shuddering breath fell from Steve’s lips, and his hands trembled when he reached for the weapon.

He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t but he _wanted._

It would all _end_. Things would be _easy_ , and he’d be with Bucky, with his boys again. He’d be with his Ma. Steve hadn’t believed in God in a long time, but he knew there wouldn’t be a God that would be cruel enough to keep Steve from his family.

Any God worth his salt would _understand_.

The God Steve had once believed in would _understand_. He would love Steve in spite of his sins and would not keep Steve from the loves of his life. He curled his finger around the trigger and slowly pressed the cold metal to the soft meat beneath his chin.

He closed his eyes.

He must’ve lost time again, because when he next opened them, he was blinking drowsily at the phone on the floor beside him. His finger was still on the trigger. There was someone yelling on the phone, loud enough that Steve could probably hear every word if he tried.

Why would someone be yelling at him?

Steve wasn’t really sure he cared.

He tightened his grip on the gun and closed his eyes again.

When he opened his eyes again, he was on his bed, and Natasha was sitting on the bed next to him.

The gun was gone.

“What are you doing here?” His throat felt raw, like he was coming down with a cold, and it was the _weirdest_ feeling. He hadn’t felt anything even remotely like being sick since he’d gotten the serum—he’d assumed it was impossible, but who knew what super-bugs roamed the twenty-first century?

He blinked up at Nat blearily, heart sinking when he saw the slightly reddened rim beneath her eyes.

“Natasha, is Becca okay?” He demanded, pushing himself up onto his elbows until Nat stopped him, her hand pressed to the centre of his chest.

“Jesus, Rogers,” she shook her head, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re something else. Tony called me in a panic and sent me here to pry a _loaded_ gun from your fingers before you _killed yourself_ less than two hours ago, and the first thing you ask me is if _Becca_ is okay?!”

Steve winced, and his stomach _twisted_ violently and nausea abruptly shot up the back of his throat. He barely managed to haul himself to the edge of the bed, leaning across Natasha’s lap heavily as he retched in the waste basket he—thankfully—kept there. When he finished, tears burning in his eyes and throat so sore he felt like he’d swallowed sandpaper, he wiped his hand over his mouth with a groan and let himself go boneless, realising for the first time that Natasha was dragging her fingers through his hair soothingly.

It was unexpectedly nice.

Steve pulled away. He didn’t deserve _nice_.

His body felt heavier than he could remember it being, and rolling onto his back was so much harder than it should have been. “I didn’t want to kill myself,” he finally said hoarsely, because… that’s what he was supposed to say, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t that he _wanted_ to die, so much. He just didn’t see any other way he could atone for the way he had failed Bucky, and the way he’d failed the Howlies and Peggy.

He should’ve tried harder. He should’ve been better.

“You were seconds from pulling the trigger when I walked in,” Natasha said dully, raising an eyebrow at him. “It took me half an hour to convince you to let go of the gun. It’s like you weren’t even really…” she hesitated and Steve felt acutely more nauseous even before she continued. “…you weren’t really all there. You scared the shit out of us, Steve.”

Steve felt bad, for a moment, but the feeling scuttled away as soon as he’d felt it, and all that was left was the gut-churning guilt and horror that seemed to have eaten away at everything else he’d been capable of feeling. He blinked up at Natasha blankly and twisted his lips into something that he hoped looked like the sheepish smile Becca told him was so adorable it hurt to look at.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said monotonically. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

He hadn’t, truly.

He hadn’t really thought anyone would care at all. He supposed Becca might be sad for a while, but they’d only known each other for a short while, and he was sure she’d get over it soon.

And Becky… Becky had already mourned him once. He was sure she’d be fine doing it again.

They were both so much stronger than he was.

Natasha eyes went soft, but her gaze was still _so_ penetrating it made Steve want to _squirm_. “What were you thinking, _котенок?”_ she said quietly, dragging her slender fingers through his hair in the exact same way Peggy and Bucky used to, and Steve could feel himself melt even though he didn’t _want_ to.

Steve didn’t reply—he didn’t think he had the energy to do so—and shrugged one shoulder.

Nat took a measured, deep breath and held it for a few beats before she let it out, the air whistling lightly as it escaped from between her pursed lips. “You need to drink some water,” she finally said. “I don’t know how much you drank, but considering it was enough to upset _your_ metabolism, _and_ the amount of bottles in here, you’re going to need to hydrate.”

Steve frowned a little, confused.

He didn’t remember drinking.

But when he glanced across Nat’s lap, he did indeed see an impressive—and terrifying—amount of bottles littering the floor of his otherwise pristine room, so he must have. He looked up at Nat again and considered the levels of energy it would take to get up, go to the kitchen and drink some water.

The reluctance and weariness must have shown on his face, because Nat sighed again and stood, shaking her head a little. “I’ll get you a bottle of water and some crackers. You’re going to eat them.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Sure,” Steve shrugged, rolling over onto his side, his back to Nat. Maybe if he did what she said, she’d go, and once she went away, he could try again. She’d taken the gun, as she’d told him, but he was sure he’d be able to find something else that would work—that would do so much damage the serum wouldn’t be able to heal him and he’d stop _hurting_ constantly.

So he could go home.

He closed his eyes, and suddenly he could hear the front door slamming open, crashing against the wall loudly and sending Steve’s nerves haywire. Before he even realised he’d moved, he found himself pressed into the corner behind the armchair, breath shakily falling from his lips.

He could hear someone— _Tony, it’s got to be Tony, no one else would barge in like that—_ talking loudly in the kitchen, demanding to see… to see him, to see Steve.

Steve didn’t _want_ to be seen.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands over his ears, the way he had when the nightmares were too loud in the war, when every little sound—from Jacques’ snoring to Bucky rustling beside him—was too much to bear.

“Go away,” he whispered, curling as small as he could into the corner, pressing his forehead to his knees as he struggled to breathe properly. “Go away, go away, go away.”

Blood rushed loudly in his ears, thankfully almost loud enough to drown out the sound of his own thoughts, but not loud enough to make it easy to ignore the three sets of footsteps that thundered into his bedroom, the loud, rushed voices that _kept talking_ when he needed things to be _quiet—_

“Steve. Steve, look at me. Steve.”

He nearly lashed out at the soft touch on his arm, holding himself back just in time to avoid smashing Nat into the opposite wall. She looked at him with wide, concerned eyes, holding out a phone to him, Tony and… Bruce, for some reason, standing a few feet behind her.

“Why?” he choked out, hoarse and tired and _done_.

He simply wanted to go back to sleep.

He didn’t want to wake up either.

Not unless his _mam_ and _da_ and Bucky and the boys would be there.

“Steve, take the phone,” Bruce said softly, stepping forward slowly. “It’s Becca. She’s worried, okay? Talk to her. Tell her how you’re doing. We’ll go outside.” He clasped his hand on Tony’s arm and began dragging him towards the door, _out_ of Steve’s bedroom, and Steve felt his shoulders relax marginally.

He let Nat press the phone into his palm before she slowly backed out of the room, too, though Steve was still aware enough to know she’d be within earshot.

He looked at the phone with a great sense of trepidation and _fear_. Becca… Becca would make him feel better, he knew, would be able to listen to him and _understand_ —but he wasn’t sure he _deserved_ that anymore.

Bucky… the Bucky in his dreams had been right.

Steve should have saved him. He should have jumped after him, should’ve never let him stay on, should never have let Bucky refuse his honourable discharge and should’ve insisted he go home to Becky and Lizzie and Gracie.

Steve had been selfish, had been unwilling to let Bucky go and it had cost his love his _life_. 

“Steve?”

Becca’s voice sounded a little distorted and far-away on the phone, but enough like her that Steve knew it was really _her_ waiting for him to speak.

His heart stuttered a few times before he pressed the phone to his ear. “Hey,” he said quietly, closing his eyes when he heard Becca exhale shakily.

“Hey Stevie,” she replied, and Steve could tell she was also feeling a little teary herself. “Nat said you weren’t doing so well.” He couldn’t make out any sort of background noises on her end of the line and, though it unnerved him, he knew it was probably because she was trying to keep her cover intact while trying still to help him.

“I don’t feel so good,” he admitted shakily, feeling smaller than he had when he first admitted he was in love with Bucky and Bucky hadn’t said anything back for a full three minutes.

“Yeah?” Becca hummed softly, inquisitively, and Steve could almost imagine her sitting beside him again, fingers tapping on his wrist in a plea for honesty. “How come?”

To his credit, Steve did _try_ to tell Becca about everything that had been going on. He tried to say that he’d been seeing Bucky for _months_ , that he heard his voice in his head so frequently it was almost as if Bucky was right beside him again, only angrier and more hurt than Steve had ever seen him. He _tried_ , but he felt completely incapable of such a momentous feat that moment.

Even for Becca.

“I don’t know,” he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. “I just… I keep… I miss him. I miss you. It’s… I don’t have anywhere else to go anymore.”

“Of course you do!” Stark suddenly interrupted from where he’d evidently been eavesdropping by the door, ignoring the matching expressions of exasperation on Nat and Bruce’s faces as he strode into the room, coming to a stop before Steve.

He looked down at Steve for a moment—a long and unnerving moment, during which Steve caught himself squeezing the phone _so_ hard it squeaked in protest—before he lowered himself onto his knees in front of Steve, slowly reaching out his hands so Steve would know what he was doing.

So he could pull away if he needed to.

He didn’t. Tony wrapped his fingers around Steve’s free wrist and offered him the most serious expression Steve had ever seen on the billionaire’s face.

It would’ve startled him, but he was too _numb_.

“You are welcome at the Tower,” Tony said seriously, keeping his eyes on Steve’s. “I have your floor ready for you. It’s _been_ ready for you. Itsy Bitsy Spider and Brucie are there, too,” he nodded towards Nat and Bruce.

“Come home with us,” Tony finished sincerely. “We’re a team, Steve. We take care of each other. Let us take care of you for once.”

The words were kind and heartfelt and though they’d only been civil for Becca’s sake before, there was a _warmth_ blooming in Steve’s chest at the kindness in Tony’s words.

That feeling, too, dissipated all too soon.

“Steve,” Becca said, drawing his attention back to her. “It’s a good idea. Let them help. Let them worry about you so you can focus on feeling better again, okay?”

Steve exhaled shakily and shook his head, hands shaking even beneath Tony’s steadying touch. “I can’t,” he whimpered. “I don’t deserve this.” He heard Becca protest, repeating words she’d said a hundred times before, saying things he’d been _so sure_ of until he’d started seeing Bucky again.

“Steve.”

He startled and looked up at Bruce, who had kneeled down beside Tony. “Steve, remember what I told all of you on the Helicarrier?”

Steve flinched at the reminder, barely noticing that Tony did, too, but nodded nonetheless.

Bruce smiled wryly. “I’ve been there, Steve. I managed to get myself out of that dark place. Let me try to help you up again as well.”

Becca and Tony were both silent, as was Nat from where she leaned against the door, looking so casual Steve would almost believe she wasn’t really worried, if not for the tenseness in her arms and thighs and the slightly pinched frown on her features.

Maybe… Maybe he’d find a way to make things right if he stayed at the Tower, too. It wasn’t like they could watch him _every_ moment.

He nodded slowly. “Okay,” he conceded. “Okay.”


	2. The One In the Tower... And Other Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deeply apologise for the long wait on this chapter. I had a lot of balls in the air plotwise, and it took me a lot longer than I expected to really get everything settled the way I wanted to.  
> This chapter requires the same warnings I issued on the first one; Steve is not doing well in this, and it shows a lot. 
> 
> Also, first, there's a couple of time jumps in the fic. The articles that are in there are also not neccessarily in chronological order. Each time, there should be a time and place in the beginning of the scene, so you can keep track of what happens when though :) Second; since I can't say it enough times, please, please heed the tags. I put them there for a reason. If any of the tags squick you out or are triggers, please feel free to message me, and I'll be happy to explain what happens where, so you can decide if you want to read it or not. 
> 
> Much, much love to my darling Juulna for helping me make this fic (and all the others that are yet to come) a reality. 
> 
> This fic will be followed by a series of oneshots before the next, longer work. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Love, Annaelle

## Chapter Two

_BREAKING NEWS — Billionaire Tony Stark abruptly breaks off speech calling out the Mandarin after receiving mysterious phone call!_

_…anonymous sources confirm Harold “Happy” Hogan, Stark Industries’ head of security, has been admitted to the hospital after suffering third degree burns and internal organ damage likely sustained during the blast that struck the Chinese Theatre late last night. Hogan is also a well-known long-time personal friend of billionaire Tony Stark, and sources confirm that Mr. Stark arrived at the hospital not long after Hogan was admitted._

_…reporters waited outside for Tony Stark to leave the hospital, hoping to gain a reaction from the billionaire on the latest Mandarin attack—and some reaction they were given! After an inflammatory question from one of the present reporters, Stark responded with strong, clear language before he was interrupted by a phone call._

_“There’s a something I’ve been wanting to say to the Mandarin,” Stark said. “Didn’t know how to phrase it until now. My name is Tony Stark and I’m not afraid of you. I know you’re a coward, and so I’ve decided that you just died, pal. I’m going to come and get the bod—” At this point, Stark was interrupted by his own phone ringing with what we can only assume was a personalised ringtone._

_The caller is, as of yet, unknown, as it what was said during the conversation, but given Stark’s sudden pallor and abrupt departure in his car, we can only assume that whoever it was did not bear good news._

_…no reaction from the Mandarin to Tony Stark’s threatening message so far, but rest assured, we will keep you, the public and our diligent readers, apprised to any new information as it occurs!_

_C. Everhardt, “Tony Stark Calls Out the Mandarin”, Vanity Fair Online, September 16 th, 2011_

——————

### Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York City, New York, United States of America  
September 30th, 2011

### Tony

He shot bolt upright, nearly tumbling off his chair as he tried to shake the throes of his nightmare. His ears were filled with the thunderous rush of blood and, though it felt deafening, it was a welcome distraction after the all-encompassing silence in the crushing void of space in his nightmare. His breathing was clipped and too fast, but he had too much experience waking up like this to let it get too far.

That, sadly, didn’t mean it became any more pleasant to do it.

He silently counted his breaths, running his trembling hands through his messy hair as he regarded the artful chaos he had created on his workbench. The schematics he’d drawn up for an upgrade to Cap’s shield and Becca’s tac gear were scattered across the entire bench, along with several prototypes for both, and Tony had to admit he’d gotten remarkably far before sleep had forcibly taken him.

He glared at the can of Monster Energy and vowed to never buy that useless sugar swill again. It hadn’t helped him stave off sleep and the horrors it brought any more than a glazed donut would have.

Sleeping alone, without Pepper and Rhodey, who were busy being _awesome_ at their respective jobs somewhere else, wasn’t a viable option. Tony shuddered to think of crawling into their big, _empty_ bed with cold sheets and too much space and no warm bodies to remind him he wasn’t lost in space or in a fucking cave in Afghanistan.

He shook himself and idly reached for a screwdriver, patting DUM-E’s head as he rolled by. He glanced at the digital clock and shook himself. It was only 2:17 AM— _plenty_ of time to get some more work done before he was allowed to call Pepper, Rhodey, or Brucie.

He smiled grimly at the neat row of Iron Man suits, all of which he had designed and produced in the two months that had passed since the Battle of New York.

He tapped the screwdriver against his lower lip and considered the latest version of the suit. He supposed he could just… _alter_ the reactor’s connection to the thruster in his hand…

There was a phone ringing.

It took him a moment too long to realise that the sound was J.A.R.V.I.S.’s notification alert.

Why was there a notification alert when he was trying to work?

He emerged from the innards of his Iron Man suit with a frown and glared at the nearest speaker emitting the offending noise. “J.A.R.V.I.S.,” he exclaimed, wiping his hands on the closest rag—was that his AC/DC shirt?—and jumping from his spinning stool. “Just stop making that ungodly sound and tell me what’s up, yeah?”

“Of course, sir.”

Tony nodded, satisfied, and looked at the specs he’d drawn up for the new suit, preparing to dive right back in, because it was still only… oh, wow. 4:15 AM.  That went quickly.

Still. Four more hours until he was allowed to wake up Bruce.

Which was fine.

He wasn’t pouting.

He _wasn’t_.

He _was_ supposed to pay attention to what J.A.R.V.I.S. was saying, wasn’t he?

Right.

“…hasn’t left his bedroom in 28.7 hours, except to relieve himself. He has accepted one nutritional shake from Dr. Banner, but he has further refused any other nourishment. Based on previously established baselines, the Captain only has about 48 hours before nutrition needs to be introduced into his system via enteral feeding, provided nothing changes in the interim.”

Tony rubbed his fingers over his temples tiredly as he turned his attention to J.A.R.V.I.S.’s report on Rogers’ day. He’d been in the Tower for nearly two weeks now and yet, while Tony had hoped in the first few days that it was helping Steve to be around the team, around people who cared about him, the man had backslid further and deeper into depression with every day that passed.

On day four, J.A.R.V.I.S. had woken them all up with a blaring alarm to alert them that Steve had somehow broken into the locked and sealed kitchen drawers and was looking for a knife sharp enough to do damage to a supersoldier. Natasha had gotten there quickly, thankfully, and wrestled Steve to the ground, away from any objects he could hurt himself with.

She’d later told Tony it had been much too easy to subdue the supersoldier, even for her.

He was getting sicker, frailer, each day, and Tony just… he just didn’t know what more to do than what he was already doing. Which obviously wasn’t enough.

Steve had spent an hour on the phone with Becca that day, mostly sobbing incoherently, from what Tony could tell. He’d called in Steve’s therapist himself an hour later, getting the harried woman an access pass to Steve’s floor to come and go whenever Steve needed her, and called Becca’s grandmother too, politely informing her of what was going on and offering her a room in the Tower, should she want to stay close to keep an eye on her wayward supersoldier.

She’d shown up for a few days, trying to get through to Steve every day, but even Becky Barnes couldn’t get Steve out of his downward spiral. She’d had to leave to tend to some business, but Tony had called her every day, sometimes twice a day, with updates like he’d promised.

“Okay,” Tony sighed, raking both hands through his hair. “Okay. When’s his therapist coming over again, J?”

“She is due to arrive at 8:30 AM, Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied instantly, and _Lord_ , Tony loved his AI. J.A.R.V.I.S. had turned out to be _amazing_ at keeping track of Steve, once Tony had altered his protocols to temporarily disregard Cap’s privacy—at least until he was slightly less… you know, suicidal. He kept an eye on Steve when Tony, Bruce, Nat, and Clint needed a break from Cap-sitting—and tracked the man where it really wasn’t appropriate for his teammates to do so—as well as keeping detailed reports on their Captain’s rapidly declining health.

Tony didn’t like to admit it, but he was… _concerned_.

Not even regular conversations with Becca and Aunt Becky—Capsicle’s favourite two people in the twenty-first century, as far as Tony had been able to discern—seemed to help Steve snap out of his funk.

He’d tried to hurt himself one more time after the incident with the knife, prevented only by Clint’s lightning fast reflexes, and it seemed like he was currently attempting starvation as a third, equally-unsuccessful—if Tony had anything to say about it—attempt.

“Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. interrupted his train of thought. “Captain Rogers has not left his bed in almost 20 consecutive hours. The specified limit before intervention was set on 17 hours with Captain Rogers’ therapist and Dr. Banner.”

Tony frowned up at the ceiling. He should really stop doing that—J.A.R.V.I.S. wasn’t _in_ the ceiling, but the Capsicle, Natasha, and Clint were _really fucking contagious_ with their bad habits, damn it. “Is Bruce going down to see him?” he asked, tapping a screwdriver against the metal bench nervously. He didn’t really need J.A.R.V.I.S. to answer that, because if Bruce had been with Steve, J.A.R.V.I.S. wouldn’t have alerted him at all.

“No, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. informed him regretfully. “It appears Dr. Banner is… unavailable at the moment. I have already taken the liberty of contacting Agents Romanoff and Barton, but none have responded yet.”

“Alright. Alright. Is he awake, J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Tony demanded tiredly, pushing back from his workshop table determinedly. They’d exhausted nearly all of their options when it came to keeping their supersoldier from hurting himself, and Tony was desperate enough to go up there to talk to him himself.

He didn’t think it’d help much, but _hell_ —it’s not like he could make it _worse_.

“His breathing patterns and heartrate suggest he is conscious,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied dryly. “Though I cannot confirm his state with 100% certainty, considering he has not moved in approximately 4.5 hours.”

“Eh,” Tony shrugged. “I’ll take it.”

He made his way to the elevator, deep in thought, vaguely considering if it was too early to call Becca through the secure video-chat channel he’d set up for her. Widow had revealed she was Becca’s S.H.I.E.L.D. handler the day she’d pried the gun from Steve’s hands, and had helped Tony set up the secure video-chat channel in a—pretty desperate—attempt to appease Becca and to keep her from abandoning her mission once she’d realised Steve wasn’t doing better.

Tony still wasn’t sure what the mission entailed, but he’d been there for Widow’s—incredibly tense—side of the conversation, and had been able to deduce that Rogers’ sense of justice and honour _had_ to be contagious, because it had only taken Red Scare a few well-phrased arguments about public safety to get Becca to concede.

Well, a few well-placed arguments and a promise of a secure line to talk to Steve.

Tony had been _happy_ to go behind S.H.I.E.L.D.’s back and provide said secure channel. He had _issues_ with the way Fury ran things, and sending his Baby-Becs off on a classified undercover mission when she literally hadn’t even been discharged from the hospital yet had _not_ sat well with him.

When the opportunity to keep an eye on her came up, he, admittedly, jumped at it.

She seemed to be doing alright, though, and while Tony still wasn’t happy—there _was_ a suicidal super soldier living in his Tower—he did feel better about the whole thing.

“Sir?”

Tony _did not_ jump. He absolutely _did not_ , and he also _did not_ look at the ceiling when he replied, “Yeah?”

“We’re here, sir.” Tony blinked at the elevator doors blankly for a long, drawn-out moment.

“Huh,” he said. He must’ve been more tired than he realised, because he _was_ actually at Steve’s floor, the elevator doors opened to reveal the foyer Pepper had painstakingly designed for Steve—or had painstakingly paid someone to design. “Right.”

He cautiously stepped into the apartment, unsure of what to expect, even though he had seen the entire floor after renovations had been finished. Steve had been in here for two weeks, but according to J.A.R.V.I.S. and Bruce, he’d barely even left the bedroom, so Tony doubted he had made much of a mess—not that he would have cared that much to begin with, but still.

It was the principle of the matter.

He rubbed his hands together and rocked back and forth on his heels a couple of times. Since Steve had joined them at the Tower, J.A.R.V.I.S. had insisted on everyone reading a rudimentary file he had put together on how to deal with depression and suicidal tendencies as a loved one, and while all were relatively similar—listen, don’t diminish their feelings, don’t try to offer to solve it—Tony wasn’t really sure any of them would work for their soldier right now.

They’d tried all of that, and all it was doing was making Steve try again, and again, and again.

“Alright,” Tony clapped his hands together and bounced up and down a couple of times before he started for the bedrooms, “let’s do this.”

“Rogers!” he shouted as he pushed open the door to what _had_ to be Rogers’ bedroom—it looked like the only occupied space in the entire damned apartment. “It has come to my attention that you are currently not doing anything but lie around and are thus just cluttering up the joint. And _everyone_ needs to work for their keep.” He leaned against the doorjamb and eyed the Steve Rogers-shaped lump on the bed.

He noted a barely-there twitch roughly where he imaged Steve’s head was hidden beneath the blanket.

Excellent.

“So here’s what we’re gonna do, capisce?” he continued, grinning a little when the Steve-lump moved again. “You are going to get your serum-engineered ass out of that little blanket nest you’ve built yourself and get down to the kitchen pronto.”

The lump moved again.

“I know you’re listenin’, Rogers,” Tony cajoled, moving further into the room carefully, stepping over piles of dirty laundry, nose wrinkling a little at the ripe smell. “Jesus,” he groaned. “What are you, an animal? Come on, Capsicle, I know your mother raised you with better manners—Aunt Becky told me so herself.”

 _That_ got a reaction.

“You don’t know anything about my mother,” Steve grumbled from inside his pile of blankets, looking for all the world much more like a college student recovering from a bender than a 90-year-old supersoldier.

“Don’t I?” Tony smirked, raising an eyebrow when Rogers flailed a little in his cocoon.

“Fight me, Stark,” the supersoldier huffed, ceasing his losing battle with the blanket, settling instead for glaring at Tony balefully. Tony was briefly struck by how _young_ the other man looked, blond hair sticking up every which way and eyes wide and just a touch bloodshot.

 _Christ_.

He forgot this kid was only in his mid-twenties sometimes, time in the ice notwithstanding.

Thinking about what he had been doing in his twenties himself made Tony feel slightly baffled and confused—mostly because it was primarily a haze of parties, alcohol, sex, and mechanics—and more than a little out of his depth when faced with a depressed, suicidal, twenty-something Steve Rogers.

He’d been pretty determined to hate the man before he’d met him, despite Becca having decided she _adored_ him, because Captain America was _everything_ Tony hated, but he was also _so much more_.

He was _so_ not qualified to deal with this—how was he supposed to offer any kind of comfort that would make the man _not_ want to kill himself? Tony wasn’t _good_ at _Feelings_ with people who weren’t his Pep and his Rhodey—fuck, he wasn’t even good at it with _them_.

“Nah,” he huffed uncomfortably, crossing his arms over his chest. “Wouldn’t be much of a fight right now. Maybe once you’ve eaten, big guy.”

“I don’ wanna eat,” Steve grumbled, and Tony watched with horror as Steve’s eyes grew a little redder and suspiciously shiny. “I wanna go home.” The soldier ducked deeper into his blanket nest and added, in a whisper so low Tony almost didn’t hear, “I miss my bed. I miss my mom and Bucky and my boys and I just wanna go home. Why won’t any of you let me go?”

Tony felt sick, and he stumbled a step back until he was steadied by the wall at his back. He had never really considered what it meant for the Captain to wake up in the twenty-first century, but now that he’d heard Steve’s desperate plea, now that he _knew_ … he couldn’t stop considering it.

“Shit, Cap,” he sighed, mentally coming up with and discarding dozens of responses within the span of seconds before settling on… _something_ that might work. “Look, I’m not the right guy to give you advice or life lessons. Unless it’s on what kind of crap _not_ to do. Just…” He shrugged helplessly. “Look, you were Catholic, right?” Tony wasn’t really one for religion, but he understood that some people found comfort in it—the way he found comfort in working in the lab for hours.

When Steve nodded minutely, Tony continued. “Maybe your God meant for you to make it to this century for a reason. And… Maybe Bucky fought and died so you would make it here. Don’t you owe it to both of them to see what that reason is?”

Steve blinked at him, eyes wide and confused, but clearer than they had been the moment before, and Tony felt a little proud of himself for coming up with that.

 “Can we have french toast?” Steve finally asked after a considerable, slightly awkward silence, voice hoarse and expression young and vulnerable as he looked at Tony. Something that felt disturbingly like _affection_ bloomed somewhere in the dark recesses of Tony’s chest and he couldn’t stop the soft smile that rose to his lips.

“Yeah, Steve. We can have anything you want.”

——————

### Tony

He watched in horrified fascination as Steve demolished—there really was no other word for it—the pile of french toast that one of the cooks had whipped up.

He knew Steve hadn’t eaten properly in days, but _damn_. This was downright _savage_ , and Tony respected the hell out of it. He was also extracting eternal bragging rights, stealthily taking pictures of Steve—freshly showered and everything—and sending them to all of the Avengers, including Becca.

He _had_ been the one to get Steve out of his self-imposed exile, after all, and to get him to eat.

It was definitely worth bragging about.

“Don’t forget to breathe there, Rogers,” he said jokingly, disproportionally delighted when Steve just raised his hand and flipped him the bird without even taking his eyes off his plate.

“Hey, Itsy Bitsy,” he called out when Natasha slipped into the kitchen, looking uncharacteristically soft in a large purple hoodie and soft black leggings. Tony hadn’t even realised she was back at the Tower in the first place. Romanoff had been flitting in and out of the Tower without much of a discernible schedule, and though it _irked_ Tony that he couldn’t figure her out, he’d accepted that it was something he’d have to learn to live with for the time being.

He spun around on his chair to face her, slightly impressed by the entirely blank look on her face, save for one single, perfectly arched eyebrow. “You can do better than that,” she said impassively, before pulling up one of Tony’s awesome rolling chairs and sitting down at the table with them.

She glanced towards Steve and smiled, her entire expression softening into something disturbingly… human. He knew she wasn’t _actually_ a robot, but considering she was supposedly one of the biggest superspies of the past century, it was rare to see genuine emotion on the spy’s features, and Tony wasn’t sure what to make of said expression directed towards their live-in supersoldier.

“It’s good to see you eating,” she said softly. “And to see you dressed and showered.”

Steve slowed and then stopped eating, blinking at Natasha sluggishly. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I was real hungry. Feels good.” Bruce, who had entered the kitchen sometime after Natasha had started talking, patted Steve’s shoulder in a wordless sign of support before he went to fetch himself more tea, and Natasha smiled as she patted Steve’s arm gently.

She turned to Tony with a slightly raised eyebrow no more than a heartbeat later. “There has been rumour of retaliation from the Mandarin for the earful you so eloquently gave him on national television,” she said dryly, like they were discussing the weather, and not an international terrorist with a bone to pick with him.

Okay, so _maybe_ calling out the bastard hadn’t been his smartest decision ever.

He sat up straight, biting his lip anxiously. He hadn’t _forgotten_ his little… announcement to the Mandarin, per se, but he _had_ kind of shelved it as an issue to deal with another day, considering there was a depressed, suicidal supersoldier living in his Tower. Happy was on the mend and was being kept under the eye of the best security guards S.I. had on hand, so he’d felt he’d been able to take a step back—at least for a little while.

“Right,” he groaned, briefly considering yelling at Romanoff for bringing it up _now_. “Okay.”

He wasn’t sure what Romanoff knew about the Mandarin or even why she’d be looking into it while they were really trying to deal with Steve being… well, Steve, but he wasn’t going to turn down a chance at more information to catch the bastard who’d tried to take Happy from them. J.A.R.V.I.S. could keep an eye on Steve while Tony conspired with their resident spider to take down a terrorist.

He wasn’t really worried about the Mandarin retaliating.

The Tower was a fortress, he’d made sure of that, and his residences in Malibu, the Hamptons, and London had all been placed on high alert and evacuated to bare security personnel the second Pepper had learned of his impulsive announcement—after she had finished reading him the riot act, threatening to string him up by his toes, and then concluding by giving him that really _sad_ expression that made his stomach twist until he figured out how to make it up to her.

Rhodey, of course, had just sighed and shaken his head. His silence had always spoken volumes though, and always would.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. has been looking into these bombings for months,” Romanoff continued, oblivious to Tony’s spiralling thoughts. “We’ve not conclusively established a pattern, but there have been a few of the supposed bombers linked to a think-tank named A.I.M.”

Tony wrinkled his nose and poked at a stray crumb of toast that had managed to survive Rogers’ carnage. “Never heard of ‘em,” he shrugged dismissively.

Natasha looked up at him with a single eyebrow arched high on her forehead. “Really? Pepper had a meeting with A.I.M.’s founder a few weeks ago. She said he was oddly persistent about getting Stark Industries to invest in A.I.M., but left without a fuss.” Tony shrugged as Nat tilted her head and considered him curiously. “She didn’t mention it?”

“Must’ve been right around the time we had to rush back to save the Capsicle from himself,” Tony blurted, wincing at the callousness in his own words as they fell from his lips, and he shot a quick glance towards Rogers, only to find him missing from his spot.

“Wha—where did he go?” he stammered, pointing incredulously towards the plate of crumbs Steve had left behind.

Widow’s eyebrow raised impossibly higher. “Bruce took him for a stroll. He needs to stretch his legs.”

“Oh,” Tony slumped back into his seat. “That’s alright then.” he eyed Natasha in a considering manner. “What were we talking about again?”

“The fact that you’ve never heard of A.I.M.,” Natasha deadpanned, eyes directed at her phone rather than at him. “I’d have thought you’d be more involved.”

“Pepper meets with businesses looking for investments every day,” Tony replied testily, jabbing his knife towards her insistently. “If I wanted to know about every single one of them, I wouldn’t have signed the company over to her. If she doesn’t think it’s worth mentioning, it’s probably not worth my time.”

He could see Natasha shrug from the corner of his eye, but waited for her to speak again. Clearly, she’d come here to talk about something, and Tony wasn’t really in a mood to dig it out of her.

She’d tell him soon enough.

“The mission Becca is on,” Natasha said slowly, and Tony froze, turning his spinning chair around so he could see her. “It’s an intel-gathering mission inside an A.I.M. recruitment center in New Jersey. She’s the one who insisted we bring you into the fold. Your name has been coming up a lot lately among the recruits and the scientists. It’s been weeks since you challenged the Mandarin, but they’re still talking about it. Something is going on inside of A.I.M., but we can’t find anything more from where Becca is now, not without risking her cover.”

“So what do you want from me?” Tony raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Who do I need to pay off?”

Romanoff merely bared her teeth in response and replied, “No one. We just need you to make Aldrich Killian _think_ you are going to pay him, so he’ll come to you. He’ll be vulnerable, and we’ll be able to take him in for questioning.”

Before Tony could process that, a loud, shrill alarm startled them both, and a light in the ceiling began flashing red. Tony’s heart _squeezed_ and his stomach dropped, but he _refused_ to show Romanoff how hard his heart was pounding and how nauseous he felt.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.!” Tony yelled, jumping up, ready to call his suit to him, “What the hell is going on?”

“Captain Rogers has managed to shake off Dr. Banner,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied and, if Tony didn’t know better, he’d say his AI actually sounded _worried_. “He has gained access to the roof and is currently climbing over the edge. I am distracting him to the best of my abilities, but as I am limited in my options… It appears he’s planning to jump.”

——————

_BREAKING—At 07.56 AM, a commotion on the roof of Stark Tower was noticed from the upper floors of surrounding buildings… altercation between what appeared to be several of the Avengers and, possibly, agents of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division—more colloquially known as S.H.I.E.L.D… no comment has been forthcoming from Stark Industries, the Avengers, or S.H.I.E.L.D., so we can only speculate as to the events which took place…_

_All we know for sure is that, approximately 11 minutes after the altercation on the roof, Captain Rogers departed the Avengers Tower accompanied by several unidentified S.H.I.E.L.D. agents._

_—A.J. Barnett, ‘Chaos at Avengers Tower’, CNN, September 30 th, 2011_

——————

### A.I.M. Recruitment Center, Newark, New Jersey, United States of America  
September 30th, 2011

### Becca

The silence in the room was almost palpable, broken only by the news anchor’s confused commentary on the footage that was being shown in a loop. It wasn’t much, and most of it seemed to be filmed from someone’s phone, with the actual footage blurry and shaky, and no one seemed to quite know what to make of it.

Becca’s stomach churned and she felt faintly nauseous. She couldn’t make out anything defining, could barely even see the glint of red and gold that identified Tony’s suit diving over the edge of the roof, freefalling for a heart-stopping couple of heartbeats before he abruptly swept upwards again.

“It’s just a publicity stunt. Stark wants to drive up sales in whatever ungodly niche he’s found and he’s showing off,” Barbara from accounting remarked derisively, and Becca wanted to _punch_ her.

She wanted to _be there_ , wanted to be right with Tony and Steve to deal with whatever the hell was going on, but instead she was stuck _here_ , in New _fucking_ Jersey, trying to dig up information on the staggeringly boring people that worked in the A.I.M. recruitment center.

‘S.H.I.E.L.D. HELICOPTERS SPOTTED’ the text running across the bottom of the screen declared in bold letters, right before the blurry cell phone footage was replaced by clearer, news-worthy footage, clearly shot by whatever news agencies had managed to defy Manhattan traffic to get to the Tower before whatever was going on was over.

The others tittered amongst themselves excitedly, but Becca’s breath caught when Steve appeared on screen, paler than she had ever seen him, flanked by two Agents Rumlow and Sitwell, expressions grim and serious. He looked… he looked _terrible_.

It took _everything_ she had not to respond to the sight of Steve looking like he’d lost ten pounds and hadn’t gone outside in about a hundred years.

She knew he hadn’t been doing well—Tony had made sure to keep her up to date, and Nat shared what she could as well when they met for a check-in—but she hadn’t thought he was doing _this_ badly. He’d sounded somewhat like himself when she’d talked to him, albeit far sadder and morose.

“Well damn,” someone muttered. “I’d have thought he was more handsome… and healthy up close.”

The news anchors seemed to agree, remarking concernedly about Captain America’s ‘lackluster appearance’. Their comments seemed to only gain approving murmurs around the office, and Becca once again felt her own disdain for these petty, angry people grow. Ever since she’d arrived here, all people seemed to want to gossip about was the ‘abysmal’ way people were treated by Stark Industries in the wake of the Battle of New York—though Becca knew for a fact that Tony and Pepper had tried to make sure everyone who had been injured in the attack was taken care of—and the disgrace of the Avengers being praised for destroying half the city.

She wondered how they’d have felt if they hadn’t done anything and had just let Loki and the aliens win.

Of course, as Daniella Lupei, she was forced to agree with every filthy rumor that passed through the open-office workspace.

She sighed and glanced around at her coworkers, making sure to memorize everyone who seemed a little _too_ excited by the prospect of Captain America being ill or indisposed. Despite how she _ached_ to go home and check on her family, she couldn’t forget why she was here.

Fury had taken a chance on her with this mission, and she _did_ appreciate it.

She’d never been given the chance to work a high-profile undercover operation before—she’d been unable to. She had been far too recognizable after her well-documented and highly publicized return to the U.S. after Iraq, her connection to Tony, and too inexperienced to be allowed to take such operations.

Her conduct concerning Steve and her performance prior to and during the Battle of New York had impressed Fury enough that he’d finally agreed to give her a chance; an intelligence-gathering mission with a relatively simple cover and goal, while still a part of a larger, much more complicated investigation that S.H.I.E.L.D. was running with the aid of several police task forces across the country.

She’d been _thrilled_ , but now… she glanced back at the footage, that had looped back to Steve being escorted out of the tower, stomach churning uneasily. She had to wonder about the timing of it all—she’d been gone for less than a month when Steve started to spiral, Natasha had flat out refused to let her return to New York, and now S.H.I.E.L.D. was taking Steve somewhere?

She didn’t want to think that Natasha would ever deliberately keep her away from Steve so S.H.I.E.L.D., Fury or whoever could play out their schemes, but…

She couldn’t say it hadn’t crossed her mind.

Of course, she’d just thought Nat was trying to keep her distance because she still felt weird about everything that had happened between them. Becca wasn’t quite sure what to think of the way the woman acted around her. Initially, Becca had thought that Nat wasn’t at all as affected by the night they’d spent together—it had clearly been a job for her—but the way Nat responded to her later on made her rethink that stance.

There had been one particular… _moment_.

Before Becca had left, Nat had come by to wish her luck—which only really resulted in Becca getting a lecture from the Black Widow on how to successfully integrate herself in a group on an undercover mission. Becca had sniped and Nat had snapped back, and somehow, it had ended with an incredibly intense kiss that had ended before it even truly began.

Nat had left without really saying anything, and Becca had tried to ignore it happened at all.

She hadn’t seen Nat again until the woman showed up at one of Becca’s check-ins, declaring herself Becca’s new S.H.I.E.L.D. handler. It was awkward—it was more awkward when Becca had to pretend the texts Nat sent her to check in were sent by her girlfriend back in New York.

The contact had gotten more intense once Nat called Becca to tell her about Steve’s suicide attempt—and _Lord_ , it had taken Nat four hours, in person, to talk Becca out of blowing her cover and hopping into her car and driving back to Brooklyn. Becca wished she hadn’t listened—she didn’t know if her being there would have done anything, if she would have been able to help Steve at all, but _God_ , she should have at least been there to _try_.

She wasn’t stupid.

Tony had told her about the other suicide attempts, and she wasn’t enough of an idiot to think that the armor she’d seen diving off the tower had formed in mid-air _accidentally_.

She knew about the watches Tony made for everyone, knew about the million different updates he’d made for the suit, knew about the sleepless nights and binges in the lab—she was pretty sure that Iron Man had just saved Captain America’s life. Again.

She glanced around at her coworkers once more and discreetly slipped her phone from her pocket, opening the conversation thread with Nat.

BECCA: What the hell is going on over there? Tower & Cap & SHIELD all over the news.

She hit ‘send’ before she could change her mind and copied the same message to her chat with Tony, praying that at least one of those dumbasses would get their heads out of their asses and _answer_ her.

She, predictably, didn’t receive a response, and fumed a little as their floor manager appeared to shoo everyone back to their own workstation, pointing out that there were at least four people waiting to be seen during their pre-arranged appointments.

“Uh,” a woman’s voice broke her from her musings. “Hello?”

“Hi, welcome to Advanced Idea Mechanics,” Becca fake-smiled brightly at the woman standing on the other side of her desk, fingers rubbing against the stump of her lower left arm nervously. “Do you have an appointment with one of our recruiters today?”

The woman nodded shakily and barely returned Becca’s smile. “I’m Ellen Brandt… I’m supposed to meet Maya Hansen at 11:00 AM. Aldrich—I mean…” She shook her head a little and smiled sheepishly. “Mr. Killian sent me.”

Becca made sure to keep her face blank as she processed that information, handing the woman a tablet to fill in the necessary forms. Becca hadn’t met Aldrich Killian yet, but every now and then, veterans would come in, claiming the big boss himself had sent them.

So far, Becca had been able to prove that two of those people had been responsible for bombings.

This woman, though… Becca looked up at her again and her stomach _twisted_ at the sight of the dark circles beneath the woman’s eyes and the restless way she looked around, fidgeting and eyes darting from one exit to another. Becca had _been_ that woman after she’d returned from Iraq, and all she wanted was to warn this woman to run far, _far_ away.

Becca might not know _what_ was going on at A.I.M., but she knew it wasn’t good, and vets with PTSD should be nowhere near here.

She bit her tongue and accepted the tablet back with another strained smile, directing the woman to the comfortable couches a little further into the building to wait for Dr. Hansen while Becca marked her as present on the spreadsheet that held all of their planned recruitment meetings.

She’d already forwarded the list from the previous week to Nat, but Becca was willing to be a little risky to add today’s list to the private, encoded S.H.I.E.L.D. server specifically set aside for this mission.

Something about this woman didn’t sit right with Becca.

Before she could do anything though, there was a loud commotion at the door, and Becca barely had a second to look up before Nat ran in, her sundress and purse crooked and her—temporarily, Becca assumed—blonde hair wild and mussed. “Sofie,” Becca blurted, stunned by Nat’s unexplained sudden appearance, but not so much she’d blow her goddamned cover. “What are you—what’s going on?”

The security guard that had followed Nat inside was obviously mollified when he realised Becca knew the crazy blonde and backed off a little, though he did remain within arm’s reach.

“Dani,” Nat sobbed just this side of theatrically, throwing herself into Becca’s arms as soon as she reached her. “It’s Elijah! He’s been in a horrible accident! Your mother is inconsolable, we need you at home right now!” Becca froze, jaw working as she tried to process the words, as she tried to figure out what the hell Nat could _mean—_

Elijah. Her cover’s older brother.

Becca’s stomach _dropped_ and she felt vaguely nauseous.

Steve. Something had happened to Steve. She’d been right—he _did_ look different on the footage. Something was up back in New York and it was bad enough that Nat was going through the effort of getting Becca out of her mission—just not bad enough to blow her cover, apparently.  

“Wha—is he… Is he going to be okay?” she choked, pushing Nat back so she could try to see into that superspy brain, so she could use Nat’s expressions to determine _how_ worried she should be.

Nat blinked at her, and Becca noted absently that she was even wearing green contacts, before she shrugged and her expression crumpled again. “We don’t _know_! He was still in surgery when I came to get you. Your phone was off, I couldn’t reach you, so I came here… We _need_ you to come home, Dani.”

“I—” Becca stuttered.

“Lupei,” Dr. Hansen spoke up from behind her, her expression somewhere between sympathetic and exasperated. “Go home. Take a few days, take care of your family. Let us know if you need _any_ help, okay?” Becca had only spoken to Maya Hansen a few times, and though she hadn’t gotten any bad vibes from the woman—and hadn’t found any overt red flags in her history—she wasn’t sure what to make of the woman’s easy dismissal and the offer of help.

She wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth though, and nodded shakily. “Yeah, I—thank you.”

She reached over her desk for her purse and turned off the computer in the same movement, letting Nat take her hand and drag her outside without anything further being said.

Becca tried not to blink too hard at the inconspicuous sedan that sat idling on the curb, four blinkers on, and simply got into the passenger seat as Nat rounded the hood and got in behind the wheel. She waited, stomach still churning and heart still pounding, until Nat had pulled away from the curb and had merged back into traffic before turning to her. “What the _fuck_ is going on? I texted you, I saw the news.”

“I know. Change of plans,” Nat replied tightly, glancing in the rear-view mirror before switching lanes and pulling into the smallest, dingiest alley Becca had ever seen. The car itself barely fit between the walls of the alley, mirrors scraping precariously against the bricks.

“Nat,” Becca said slowly, eyeing their surroundings in confusion, but before she could say anything further, the alley suddenly opened into a little brick square, framed by four windowless buildings, with Tony standing on the far end, fidgeting next to what looked like a smaller version of a quinjet.

“No time, Barnes,” Nat spat curtly, jumping out of the car without even taking the keys from the ignition, stalking to where Tony stood while pulling the blonde wig from her head and undoing the pins holding her red hair back and up. Becca exited the car more slowly, nerves itching beneath her skin, and slammed the door closed before she headed towards the small quinjet, still trying to figure out what the _hell_ was up with all this cloak and dagger shit.

“Will someone _please_ tell me what the fuck is going on?” she demanded loudly, stalking past Tony and into the jet, ignoring the man’s indignant splutter as she blew right past him.

Natasha stood in front of a mirror, removing the contact lenses and wig cap, while J.A.R.V.I.S. rattled off what sounded like a set of coordinates. “Canada,” Nat said contemplatively, while ignoring Becca’s query entirely. “That makes a strange amount of sense.”

“Indeed,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied in agreement. “Would you like me to set course for Yoho National Park?”

“Please do,” Natasha nodded, dumping the second contact lens into the little white container set in front of her. She ran her fingers through her flattened hair, shaking it loose with a soft sigh of relief.  

Tony sauntered inside at that moment, shoving his phone in his pocket and offering Becca a tight smile.

“Clint and Bruce are on stand-by in the Tower, and Pep is on media control,” he said as the door hissed shut and the jet took off on autopilot, making them all stumble. “Rhodey’s busy with the president, but he’s going to try to get a message to Thor, so we can focus on getting our supersoldier.”

“Guys!” Becca yelled when Nat nodded and began to say something, entirely ignoring Becca and her mounting confusion and frustration. Her breath fell from her lips in sharp pants, and she was _terrified_ at this point—everything sounded like Steve was in _serious_ trouble, and he _had_ to be, or Nat would never have pulled her out of her mission, and no one was _telling her anything_.

“ _Where is Steve_?” she demanded again, pushing at Tony’s shoulder angrily. “Why all the cloak and dagger? What the _fuck_ is going on? I saw S.H.I.E.L.D. take him out of the Tower, I saw the suit,” she glared at Tony, “catch him in mid-air, but I don’t think anyone else realised. _What happened_?”

Both Tony and Nat fell silent immediately, as if suddenly remembering she was there, eyes wide and a little startled. She’d never seen Nat so out of sorts and it just made her alarm bells ring all the louder. “Sit,” Natasha eventually said, gesturing to one of the seats lining the walls. “We’ll explain everything. It’s just… it’s a long story.”

For once, Tony didn’t interject and didn’t offer any sarcastic quips, just nodded along with Nat’s words.

Becca swallowed thickly, doubtful and afraid, but did as Nat said and lowered herself into one of the seats as Nat and Tony did the same. They exchanged a glance before Tony leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs before he spoke. “This morning… Nat and I were talking in the lab,” he glanced towards the redhead shortly before continuing. “J.A.R.V.I.S. sounded the alarm at 5:30, when Steve managed to shake off Bruce and somehow got onto the roof.”

“Oh no,” Becca moaned quietly, thumping her head back against the metal wall of the Quinjet, squeezing her eyes shut. “He really did jump, didn’t he?”

Tony nodded solemnly. “I caught him. Well, the suit did. Got him back safe and sound.”

“We did,” Nat said calmly, changing from her sundress into her tac gear in front of them without even a shred of shame. “But the media caught wind that something was happening on top of the Tower.”

“They’ve got no clue _what_ happened, only that it was something,” Tony cut in before Becca could say anything, waving his hand vaguely. “Pep’s working on keeping it that way.” She realised for the first time that he looked _exhausted_ , and she wondered worriedly when the last time he slept was.

“So…” she said uncertainly. “Why pull me out of my mission if everything is okay?”

Nat looked at her, and Becca was struck by the sheer _determination_ in her eyes when she said, “Because I promised you I would if he tried again. I keep my promises.”

Becca’s breath caught in her throat and she stared at Nat, her heart pounding in her chest as the redheaded spy looked back, something in her eyes that Becca couldn’t quite name. They stood like that for a moment longer, staring at each other in silence before Tony coughed awkwardly, abruptly drawing Becca’s attention to where he stood.

“Also,” he shrugged, “S.H.I.EL.D. kind of kidnapped him from right out of the Tower, so…”

“They _what_?” Becca nearly fell out of her seat, staring up at Tony in disbelief. “Explain,” she demanded. “Now.”

“It’s complicated,” Natasha offered, deliberately keeping her voice level and calm, at the same moment Tony exclaimed, “They’re fucking assholes, Becs, I’ve told you that!”

“Just…” Becca sighed and rubbed a hand over her forehead. “Just start at the beginning, okay?”

Tony sat down across from her and shook his head. “I don’t know what went wrong. We got him out of his room, eating breakfast and everything, and then the next thing I know, J.A.R.V.I.S. is telling us he’s on the roof, about to jump.”

“How did you even lose him in the first place?” Becca demanded, _incredulous_ , because the whole damned point of Steve living in the Tower was so they could keep a goddamned eye on him.

“I didn’t _lose_ him,” Tony exclaimed hotly. “Bruce took him for a walk around the Tower and he ran for it.”

“Of course he did!” Becca yelled back, fear and fury _burning_ through her body. “He’s a _master tactician_ , Tony! I bet he’s been planning this for _weeks_.” Her voice broke, and she _choked_ , shaking her head desperately. “You can’t conveniently forget parts of who he is whenever you see a part of him you didn’t know before. He doesn’t _stop_ being Captain America just because he’s letting you see Steve Rogers.”

“And this isn’t helping him,” Natasha cut in smoothly. “We clearly underestimated him, and that was wrong of us.” She looked at Becca so intensely, she would’ve sworn she nearly felt her skin burn beneath Nat’s gaze. “It won’t happen again. As it stood, we went to the roof as soon as J.A.R.V.I.S. raised the alarm, but we couldn’t stop him before he jumped.”

Becca felt nauseous, and she abruptly buried her face in her hands, struggling to take deep, steady breaths so she wouldn’t be sick all over Tony’s jet. The blurred images she’d seen on the television earlier suddenly seemed crystal clear and the chaotic blurred smear suddenly made much more sense.

“Hey,” Tony’s hands were suddenly on her knees, rubbing soothing circles into the soft skin there. “We got him. He’s okay—the suit caught him, took him back up to the roof. He’s okay, Becs.”

Much as she didn’t want to admit it, the words and Tony’s touch _did_ help settle her a little.

“He’s alive,” she breathed, looking up at Tony with watery, stinging eyes. “You caught him.” Tony nodded, his smile tight and filled with unspoken understanding.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. showed up as soon as we got him back inside,” Natasha continued from where she was seated in the pilot’s seat. “They insisted he come with them, took him to this cabin up in the mountains.”

“So he just… _went_ with them?” Becca stared at Tony incredulously, barely able to comprehend what she was hearing. Tony shrugged, looking equally bewildered as she felt while Nat sat in the pilot’s seat, tapping at the screen absently, but Becca knew she was still listening.

She rubbed her hands over her face tiredly, trying to find a way to _process_.

She looked up again when Nat settled on the seat beside her, tensing a little when the redhead rested a hand on her thigh. “There wasn’t much of a choice involved,’ she shrugged. “Steve wasn’t interested in staying with us anymore, and S.H.I.E.L.D. was the safest alternative while we got our shit together.”

“They locked him in a remote cabin _by himself_ ,” Becca deadpanned. “They took him away from his support system, locked a _suicidal_ , _depressed_ supersoldier with PTSD by himself in a cabin in Bumfuck Nowhere— _how_ is that _safer_?”

Her voice rose an octave at the end, higher than she’d meant to, and she caught Tony flinching minutely.

“It isn’t,” Natasha said calmly, squeezing her fingers around Becca’s wrist pointedly, suitably distracting her from her growing fear for Steve. “That’s why we’re going to get him.”

“You should have pulled me out _weeks_ ago,” Becca replied hoarsely, looking up at Nat desperately and angrily. “I asked you to let me come home _weeks_ ago.” There was something unreadable in the way Nat looked at her in response, something confusing and _real_ and _terrifying_ , that made something in Becca’s chest _twist_ , regardless of the way most of her higher brain function was occupied with worrying about her friend, locked in a cabin in the mountains by himself.

“I got you new gear!” Tony suddenly interrupted excitedly, slicing right into the awkward tension, and for a second Becca was almost grateful for his inherent inability to deal with overly emotional moments. Of course, said gratefulness only lasted until she actually laid eyes on the gear he’d designed for her. “Tony,” she groaned as she stood, following him to the back of the jet reluctantly.

Tony just grinned at her, bouncing up and down just a little as he handed her swathes of dark fabric, undoubtedly lined with whatever bulletproof, lightweight substance he’d been able to get his hands on—or fabricate on his own; she wouldn’t put it past him.

“All of it is bulletproof now,” Tony said excitedly as she shook out the black shirt he’d handed her. “It’ll probably deflect knives too, but I didn’t test that too thoroughly, so maybe don’t run headfirst into a knife fight, yeah?” He pointed one finger at her, as if _Becca_ was the reckless one between them.

She wrinkled her nose at the purple accents in the breast plate he handed her, but she had to admit, he had kept it practical. It wasn’t bright purple, like she’d feared, but a deeper, royal purple that was so dark it was nearly black. It was, however, just enough that she’d stand out if she wore it on missions with S.H.I.E.L.D., and that _was_ why Tony had made it for her, hadn’t he?

To make sure she couldn’t get so badly hurt again.

She could put up with non-regulation gear if it helped her family feel more comfortable with her job.

“It looks good, Tony,” she offered, changing into the shirt and combat trousers without a care—it really wasn’t anything either Tony or Nat hadn’t seen before—and let Tony show her how to fasten the armoured vest securely. Her approval seemed to stir Tony on, and he jumped into overdrive, fitting her with wrist guards, a thick belt with enough loops and pockets to store an entire armoury and steel-tipped boots that still felt light on her feet despite their reinforced soles and tips.

“Looking good, Barnes,” Natasha said, sidling up beside Becca when Tony eventually ran out of steam and went to torment J.A.R.V.I.S. about specs and pockets instead. She tapped the tightly fastened breast plate and smirked, raising a single eyebrow at her. “Can you even breathe in that thing?”

“Not really,” Becca admitted breathlessly, smiling brightly at Nat despite herself. “Must be ‘cause you take my breath away.”  

“That’s terrible,” Nat deadpanned, face remaining expressionless for two whole seconds before she broke, grinning a bright, beautiful smile that made Becca’s stomach flop upside down. “You should be ashamed of that, Barnes. Is that how you pick up women these days?”

Becca didn’t know where she stood with Nat, wasn’t even sure she wanted to know anymore, but she liked this—the easy banter, the flirting. The way they’d been when they first met—despite Becca not knowing who Nat really was back then.

She could do this.

“I dunno,” she shrugged, drawing her lower lip between her teeth as she looked at Nat from beneath her eyelashes. “Worked on you, didn’t it?”

“So,” Tony butted in, leaning back against the console with a smirk. “Ready to take on ‘the Retreat’, you two, or should I let you have a moment?” Becca froze, eyes wide and dread sinking into her stomach as she stared at Tony, then at Nat, and then back at Tony.

“The Retreat?” she hissed, dread swiftly making way for _anger_ , turning on her heel to glare at Natasha. “The cabin in the woods— _that_ ’s what the Retreat is?” It wasn’t like Becca thought Nat knew everything just because she was a spy, but…

Well, it wasn’t like it was an entirely _unreasonable_ assumption. 

Said spy shrugged a little, expression carefully blank. “Above my paygrade. Hadn’t heard of it until J.A.R.V.I.S. dug it up. You know it?”

Becca rubbed her fingers across her forehead tiredly, shaking her head. “No. Yes.” She shrugged helplessly, and for the first time, she realised how _tired_ she was. “They mentioned wanting to send him there to ‘acclimate’ to the twenty-first century when he first got out of the ice, and then again after the Battle of New York. Bruce mentioned it too.”

Tony perked up at that, eyes bright and worried at the same time. “Brucie’s stayed there?”

Something about the way Tony talked about Bruce—the way he _looked_ when he did—worried Becca a little. It reminded her a little too much of the way he’d looked when he was pining for Rhodey when they’d been broken up in ’08, or the way he’d pined after Pepper for _years_ , and it _worried_ her.

She didn’t have the time to worry about it now though.

“I don’t know for sure,” she said slowly, getting her mind back onto the _truly_ important matter. “I just know he mentioned S.H.I.E.L.D. putting him up in a retreat in the mountains after Harlem. Sounds too similar to be a coincidence.”

Before anyone could speak, J.A.R.V.I.S. sounded a short alarm. “Apologies, sir,” he broke in. “Urgent message from Colonel Rhodes.” Tony frowned, sweeping towards the console immediately, but before he could do anything, Rhodey’s frantic voice filtered through the speakers. “Tony! Tony, I need you to come back _right now_.”

Tony frowned, and Becca noticed his fingers twitching towards the sound of Rhodey’s voice, almost like he couldn’t stop himself. “Rhodey? What’s up? I thought you were with the president?”

Rhodey remained silent for a moment before he said, slowly, “I came back ‘cause Pep asked me to. She was… It wasn’t… Shit. Okay.” The other man sighed, sounding a little muffled, and Becca had known Rhodey long enough to know he’d be rubbing his hands over his face. “You gotta stay calm, okay Tones? Something happened.”

Becca could _see_ the second Tony’s legs nearly gave out from beneath him and moved before she even realised she had, curling her fingers in the soft fabric of his shirt, pressing herself against his side, holding him up with her own weight.

“Rhodey,” he said hoarsely, breathing in and out very slowly and deliberately as he leaned against her, allowing her to support him. “Stop beating around the bush. Are you okay? Is Pep?”

Rhodey was silent for a heartbeat before he said, “No, she’s not. She was taken.”

——————

_Things move quickly in the world of medicine, but if expert predictions about what to expect in 2018 prove accurate, they might move faster than anyone could have anticipated, with unseen breakthroughs!_

_In the last decade, technology companies have become imperative to the development of healthcare._

_Breakthroughs in everything from patient monitoring and innovative ways to treat loss of limbs have been seen, and so much more. There are predictions that we will soon see simpler, less invasive cures to cancer in the years to come, and many other advancements from companies in Silicon Valley to New Jersey, all of which could dramatically shift the world of medicine as we know it._

_The Cleveland Clinic, for the past four years, has put together an annual list of expected medical innovations for the coming year. They did so by…_

  1. _Exhaled nitric oxide (NO) – breath analysis for diagnosing asthma. A new hand-held diagnostic testing device measures a patient’s level of exhaled NO, which is a biomarker for asthma. Monitoring NO levels allows physicians to more accurately tailor their treatment strategies._



_…_

  1. _Telehealth monitoring for heart failure patients – miniature implantable monitors…_



_…_

  1. _Extremis – an advanced form of genetic manipulation, developed by Dr. Maya Hansen, with support from technological company A.I.M. and its founder, Aldrich Killian, for practical application in combat veterans who suffered loss of limb. The application enhances the user’s physiology by, essentially, rewriting their DNA. Testing shows that it harnesses bio-electricity in the body and activates parts of the brain that govern repair and recode it chemically._



_… early testing shows users gaining regenerative healing abilities from the ability to heal minor wounds to regrowing detached limbs. Some users have also begun displaying superhuman strength, reflexes and higher resilience, comparable to the effects reported by Captain Steven Rogers in the aftermath of having been administered the super soldier serum._

_…_

  1. _New molecular imaging biomarker for early detection of Alzheimer’s disease – currently, positive diagnosis of Alzheimer’s is only possible upon autopsy… New radioactive molecular imaging compound called AV-45 and a PET scan can allow doctors to ‘see’ inside patients brains to detect beta-amyloid plaques, the tell-tale signature of Alzheimer’s._



_For more information on the annual Top 10 Medical Innovations list, including descriptions, videos, and year-by-year comparisons, visit:<http://innovations.clevelandclinic.org/Summit/Top-10-Medical-Innovations.aspx>_ _._

_—CNCB, ‘Cleveland Clinic unveils Top Ten…’, September 29 th, 2011_

——————

### The Retreat, Yoho National Park, Alberta, Canada  
Steve

It was _so quiet_.

Steve could only remember this kind of quiet on long-abandoned battlefields and trenches that reeked of death and decay. He remembered this kind of ominous silence permeating dark, snow-covered woods surrounding Hydra bases, after all life had been chased off or killed.

It’d been the kind of silence that surrounded the weapons factory around Azzano before he broke in to free Bucky and his boys—not that he had known the Howlies would become so immeasurably important to him then, of course. The quiet unnerved him as much as it soothed him, both then and now. Then, it meant he had not been discovered, that his recovery mission hadn’t been blown before it even started.

Now, it meant he was _alone_.

It meant no one was bothering him anymore.

He had thought… he had thought it would be easier, to be alone.

The Tower had been… the Tower had been suffocating. There had _always_ been people around, constantly watching him, stopping him from _going_ , from letting go like he wanted to.

He wasn’t sure how he got here, to the ominous, quiet place.

Things had been a bit of a blur after he’d followed Tony to the kitchen and put him at ease by eating whatever they’d put in front of him—because everyone deserved a nice last supper, even terrible sinners like Steve—but he knew they’d stopped him _again_. He didn’t even know _how_ they’d done it, because he’d done it—he’d jumped, and for a second, he’d been _free—_

But then he _hadn’t_ been, and there’d been people everywhere, shouting and pulling at him, like they owned him, like they’d been doing since he received Erskine’s serum, even though the only person who’d ever owned Steve—body and soul—wouldn’t ever consider being this demanding with him.

He didn’t think he really cared all that much about the ‘how’ of it all, however.

In the Tower, there’d constantly been people talking to him, goading him and guilting him into taking a new breath every second of every day, and when people had shown up, demanding to take him somewhere he could ‘recover’ alone, he’d jumped on the opportunity to get away from the ever-present eyes.

There was no one here, really.

No one to tell him to eat, or to stay away from the knives and guns and toxins.

No one to tell him he couldn’t walk into the shiny, blue lake just beyond the porch and never resurface.

No one but the locked and reinforced front door and windows, and the emptied kitchen and bathroom cabinets.

It didn’t deter Steve, though. He had a goal, and he would stop at nothing to achieve it. He’d promised it to Bucky and to his boys and to everyone who was lost to him—who he lost because he hadn’t been stronger and faster and better.

As soon as he could stand, he would break that door down and walk into the water, and he would go the way he’d intended to in 1945, without waking up in the future.

And he’d be with his family again.

He was unsure how long he’d been sitting by the wall made up nearly entirely of windows, staring out into the silent, dark woods unseeingly when the silence—that he’d _craved_ , that he’d grown so used to by now—was broken by the smallest of noises. His head snapped up and he peered into the darkness, a tendril of apprehension breaking through the blankness he’d been feeling for _months_.

He straightened and pressed one hand to the cool glass.

There was a blur of movement.

Someone was out there, and they were coming right at him.

——————

**_BREAKING NEWS – ALIENS DESTROY GREENWICH_ **

_… alien force’s attempted invasion of London caused massive damage to historic buildings in Greenwich, as well as various other buildings around the city. Emergency responders were unable to effectively subdue the invading, unfamiliar troops and were instructed to steer clear of the battle._

_… Thor, known from the Battle of New York that took place several months ago, engaged with what appeared to have been the extra-terrestrial leader and managed to defeat him with aid of several American scientists, whose devices seemingly caused the enemy to disappear… British government and agencies are still trying to understand what provoked the attack, but no official statements have been made._

_Questions have also been raised as to the absence of the rest of Thor’s superhero team, better known as the Avengers, during the battle itself, and the distinct lack of involvement of the international intelligence agency known as S.H.I.E.L.D., though experts suggest the cost of damages might have been considerably_ higher _had the Hulk been in attendance during the battle…_

_… little seems to be known of the extra-terrestrials, although footage and eyewitnesses show them dressed in armour and masks. Some experts have suggested they may be Asgardian in origin, but—_

**_CONTINUED ON PAGE 4_ **

_—Hollie Abernathy, ‘Aliens destroy Greenwich’, BBC 1, October 2 nd  _

——————

### Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, United States of America  
October 1st, 2011

### Tony

Tony didn’t think he’d ever been this happy to see the couch on the shared floor of the Tower before.

It was a good couch, of course, well-worn and well-loved by every one of the reckless idiots Tony liked to call his team, but it certainly wasn’t usually his favourite piece of furniture in the whole building. Until today, of course, when he limped through the door with Pepper on one arm and Rhodey on the other, all three of them covered in various bruises and minor cuts and experiencing similar levels of exhaustion.

It had been a long, tedious, _painful_ forty-eight hours, and though Killian was dead—and, therefore, no longer an immediate problem—the issue with Extremis and those injected remained, as did the fallout of the Mandarin’s attacks and the president’s kidnapping.

Pepper’s skin was still disturbingly heated beneath his touch, and it _scared_ Tony that he physically _couldn’t_ make it down to his lab to figure out a way to _stabilise_ whatever Killian had done to her. He couldn’t quite bear parting from Rhodey and Pepper though, not right now, when he’d come so close to losing them. Pepper was stable, for the moment, so it could wait.

“C’mon, we need to rest and sit,” Pepper insisted, guiding him and Rhodey towards said couch, even though _she_ was the one they should all be really worried about right now.

“Pep,” Rhodey tried, but a single look from their—quite literally—fiery redhead silenced his protest before he even got the chance to speak. Tony wisely shut his mouth and let his two favourite people guide him onto the couch, collapsing into a tangle of limbs.

They lay there for a long moment, relishing in the silence and the knowledge that they were _safe_ for a long, comfortable moment before Rhodey moved, surreptitiously running careful fingers across Tony’s arms and Pepper’s neck, checking for injuries without making a big deal about it. It was probably just as well that he didn’t, Tony admitted to himself, because Tony would _definitely_ insist he was perfectly fine if Rhodey _did_ make a bigger deal about it.

And, he grinned to himself, so would Pepper.

For all that she liked to scold Tony for hiding crucial details about his health, she was _just as bad_ as he was about letting him and Rhodey take care of her when she was sick or hurt.

He moved a little, so his head rested against Pepper’s stomach, her skin still unnaturally warm beneath his touch. It worried him that she still burned so hot, that she was infected with something he didn’t know how to cure yet—that _no one_ knew how to cure yet.

He _would_ figure it out though.

He’d been able to figure out the stabilising formula to it ten years ago after spending only a few hours with it, while drunk off his ass, based solely off of Maya’s descriptions—he could do it now too. Even the fact that he really didn’t know much about bioengineering wasn’t much of a challenge.

He hadn’t known anything about thermonuclear physics before July either, and now, here he was.

He could do it.

This was about _Pepper_. Tony could do anything if it was for Pepper.

“Pep,” he began, levering himself up onto his elbows, eyeing his girlfriend suspiciously. “You’re okay, right? You’re not gonna burst into flames?”

“No,” Pepper huffed, tangling her fingers in his hair and dragging him back down until his head was pressed to her stomach again. “Shut up, Tony.”

Tony, for once, did as Pepper said.

It felt _good_ to lie in Pep and Rhodey’s arms again, to hear their steady heartbeats on either side of him, to take a _breath_ without an immediate disaster calling for their attention. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, tangled up in each other, just _breathing_ —and, maybe, dozing off just a little—but he knew he was mightily disappointed when JARVIS quietly spoke up, alerting them to the fact that someone had boarded the private elevators and was on their way up.

Tony put his money on either Clint and Bruce or Becca and Nat.

He winced, suddenly remembering that he hadn’t even had the chance to check in with them, to see if they’d gotten to Steve, if S.H.I.E.L.D. had given them any trouble, or if Tony had been able to keep them sufficiently occupied with A.I.M. and the president being kidnapped and all.

“Tony? Pep? Rhodey? You in here?”

Tony exhaled in relief when Becca’s voice floated towards them. He reluctantly moved when Pepper went to sit up, but relaxed again when Rhodey tugged him closer with an arm around his shoulders. Tony pretty much had a front row seat to watch Becca storm inside, eyes wide and a little terrified—and suddenly he felt _horrible_ , because the last thing they’d told Becca was that A.I.M. had kidnapped Pepper.

His eyes widened as Becca let out a small, gasping sob filled with relief when she caught sight of them. She threw herself in Pepper’s arms, clutching at the older woman tightly, and something in Tony’s chest _clenched_ at the sight, because he forgot, sometimes, that Pepper meant a lot to Becca too. Pepper had been in Tony’s life for over a decade, and while it seemed like forever, sometimes, if you really thought about it, well…

Pepper had been in Becca’s life for nearly half of Becca’s whole life.

Pepper had taught Becca how to apply makeup when she was fifteen, had talked to her when she had her first date, had been just as frantic with worry as Tony and Becky when she’d gone missing.

“I’m okay,” he heard Pepper mutter sternly. “Don’t you look at me like that. I’m going to be just fine.”

Becca snorted a little, and Tony grinned—because _there_ she was, his baby-Becs—before he realised that Becca was obviously planning on ambushing him and Rhodey in a fierce hug next. He wasn’t wrong, and he barely had time to brace himself before she launched herself in their direction, tackling them back onto the couch.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, voice a little muffled from where her face was pressed up against Rhodey’s shoulder, fingers holding tightly to Tony’s slightly singed shirt. “We’re good, kiddo,” Rhodey replied softly, rubbing his hand over her back gently. “Your intel was great. Everything you managed to get helped us figure out what they were up to.”

Tony’s heart did something funny again at the sight of his oldest friend—and long-time boyfriend—holding his baby-Becs, calming her down from the fever pitch she’d probably worried herself into over the past forty-eight hours, and he sighed  a little.

Much like Pepper, Rhodey had been a big part of Becca’s life too.

Tony would, actually, be surprised if she even remembered him not being there. He’d known Rhodey since MIT—met him in the year Becca was born. Started bringing him home and to family gatherings regularly by the time she was three.

Rhodey had taught her how to drive.

He’d helped her enlist when she turned eighteen, encouraged her to go further, to push harder and to earn every stripe she was given before her capture.

They were a family.

“I was so scared,” Becca whispered, drawing him from his thoughts, voice small as though she were confessing to the worst of crimes, and Tony couldn’t _stand_ it.

“So were we,” Tony offered, slipping his arms around Becca when she moved from Rhodey’s arms to his. “But we made it, and we’re all fine, and we’re all going to take a _very_ long nap, because we’ve really earned one.” He glanced over his shoulder to where Pepper stood with Nat and, surprisingly—or not, given that Tony had sent Becca the _terrier_ after him—Steve.

He met the supersoldier’s eyes for a brief moment before the blond turned away, muttering something to Pepper and Nat before slipping out of the room.

Tony swallowed and glanced down in panic at Becca, who was softly talking to Rhodey now, exchanging details of their exploits of the past few days, and back to the door Steve had slipped through.

He managed to slip away from Becca without really disturbing her conversation with Rhodey, catching the Widow by the elbow just before she slipped through the door to follow Steve. “I’ll go,” he said, a little surprised by how steady his own voice was.

The redhead eyed him sceptically. “Last time you talked to him he tried to jump off the roof.”

Tony reeled back, taken aback by her hostile words before he hissed back, “Yes, and when you did, he tried to drown himself in the shower. He’s my friend, Romanoff, believe it or fucking not. I’m going to talk to him. _You_ stay here.”

He didn’t wait for another scathing reply and instead pushed through the door, ducking into the only empty room on this floor on instinct, because he _was_ a genius, and he knew that Steve tended to revert to sitting on cold, hard floors when he felt alone and overwhelmed.

Steve sat, as Tony expected, on the floor in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, forehead pressed to the cold glass. He didn’t react when Tony took a seat beside him, groaning a little when his knees protested the cross-legged position.

 _Fuck,_ he was getting old.

They sat there side-by-side in silence for a good long while before Tony managed to choke out the words that had been on his mind since he’d seen Steve again.

“I think I get it now,” he confessed, glancing towards Rogers quickly before resolutely focusing his gaze back on the Manhattan skyline. “Seeing Pepper fall… Thinking she was… I _can’t_ … I can’t get the sight of it out of my head.” He exhaled shakily and shook his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t get it before.”

“Don’t be,” Steve said softly, but firmly, and Tony was so surprised Steve actually _spoke_ that he almost jumped. “I wouldn’t have wished that kind of understanding on anyone,” Steve added, meeting Tony’s eyes for an intense, but brief, moment before he looked away again. “Least of all on you, Tony.”

Tony snorted. “You don’t even like me.”

“I like you fine.” Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re just a pain in my ass most of the time.”

Tony grinned, bumping his shoulder into Steve’s impishly. It felt good to see the other man display emotion beyond a deep, desperate sadness, and Tony wished he’d brought Becca back sooner. “I aim to please,” he chuckled sassily. “From what I hear, you’re into that.”

Steve only rolled his eyes. “Fuck you, Tony.”

“Only in your dreams, Cap,” Tony quipped. “I’m a taken man. Pep and Rhodey would take offence.”

Steve snorted a laugh and knocked his shoulder into Tony’s, grinning a little at their reflection in the window, looking lighter and happier than he had seen him look in _months_.

Something in Tony’s chest loosened a little.

They’d be alright.

The smile on Steve’s lips disappeared as swiftly as it had appeared though, and the sudden downturn of his mood took Tony a little by surprise. “I’m sorry I scared you,” Steve said abruptly, carefully avoiding Tony’s gaze as he spoke. “I didn’t… I didn’t really believe anyone would care if I…” He broke off again, and Tony felt that familiar sense of nausea well up at the thought that they somehow hadn’t managed to show Steve that they _cared_.

“Of course we care,” he blurted, breaking the fragile silence. “Cap— _Steve_ ,” he corrected himself. “You’re not alone in this anymore, okay?”

Steve didn’t really respond, twisting his fingers on his lap before he whispered, “I made Becca cry. She was… she was _scared._ For _me_. And I didn’t… For a second I couldn’t even bring myself to care.” A broken sound fell from the soldier’s lips and he hunched forward, burying his face in his hands.

Tony stared at him, mouth gaping a little as he tried to… well, tried to find something to make Steve stop _crying_ , for God’s sake, because it wasn’t like Steve had committed the worst crime in history.

He was _depressed_. He needed help.

“Is that why you came back with them?”

As soon as the words fell from his lips, Tony wanted to slap himself, because this was _not_ the time for his brain-to-mouth filter to completely stop functioning. Steve, however, seemed to be shaken out of his crying fit by the blunt words and looked up at Tony with blue, teary eyes.

“No,” he whispered. “I wanna do better. I just don’t remember how to. But I promised. I promised Becca, and I promised Becky, and I promised myself. I trust you and them. I’ll try.”

Tony nodded shakily, averting his eye from Steve’s all too emotional gaze, barely resisting the urge to _squirm_ , because he didn’t _do this_. He did emotions with Pepper and Rhodey, and Becca, when she absolutely insisted. Steve, mercifully, didn’t comment, and resumed staring out at the city, pressing his forehead against the window again.

At least he’d stopped crying.

They sat in silence until an alarm blared, jarring them both into immediate action—and the part of him not devoted to confusion and jumpiness was immensely happy to see Steve slip into Super-Cap mode quicker than he had in months.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Tony exclaimed, rushing back into the main area where Rhodey, Nat, and Becca had jumped to their feet too. “What the hell is it this time?”

“Apologies,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said. “It appears London is under attack by aliens. Thor is already at the scene.”

Tony groaned.

They couldn’t have a simple moment of peace, could they? Not even half a day? _Really_?

He took a deep breath and looked at the team, feeling a little fortified by the determined looks he received in turn. “Well then,” he shrugged. “Suit up.”

———————

### Undisclosed Hydra Base  
Alexander Pierce

Alexander Pierce glared down at the mutinous man who knelt before him, _furious_ at the lack of control and forward thinking Rumlow had displayed. “What were you _thinking_?” he hissed. He kept his eyes trained on the man, but spared a bare glance towards the Asset’s still form on the metal table, where their doctors and experts were poking away at it to see how much damage Rumlow had managed to do.

“It was malfunctioning,” Rumlow insisted. “Disobedient. It killed four men before I could subdue it, and its memories were _clearly_ returning in the Captain’s presence.”

Pierce shook his head in disappointment.

“You poured _decades_ of work down the drain!” Pierce shouted. “That trigger word was only to be used as an absolutely _last_ resort. It takes _years_ to make it compliant again! Four men— _four hundred_ men—would have been well worth keeping him _intact_.” Rumlow opened his mouth again, likely to spout more justifications that would not take away the fact that the man had _destroyed_ their best assassin—one that they would _direly_ need in the coming years.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you,” he spat. “You’re demoted. You will no longer work on the Insight Project or Project Winter. You better _hope_ that we’re still able to recover the DNA samples from him and the niece, and that Rogers will not recover so quickly without the Soldier whispering in his ear. We already lost weeks’ worth of work when Rogers moved to the Mechanic’s stronghold, and now you do _this_.”

Rumlow glowered at him, but remained mum as Pierce turned to the men and women pouring over their broken Asset. “Put it back in cryo,” he ordered. They would take it out when they had need of it again—when they had the _time_ to retrain and recondition it.

He barely waited for them to acknowledge his orders before he stormed outside.

This changed everything.

The timetable would need to be adjusted.

 

**TO BE CONTINUED IN ‘Decisions’**


	3. Sequel Notification

The sequel to this little monster is now up! 

 

Thanks for your continued support, darlings! See you there :D 

 

Love, Annaelle

**Author's Note:**

> The Russian trigger words Rumlow used:  
> * Спутник - 'Sputnik' - Forces immediate asset compliance  
> * щит - 'Shield' - Forces mental shutdown when the Asset is out of control and incapacitates him.
> 
>  
> 
> PS For the record, I wrote that line before IW came out, back in like March. :p You know which line ;)


End file.
